Yesterday I threw several books in my satchel and rather than drive I walked a couple miles to the library to return them. The sky was perfectly clear, the temperature was an agreeable 70 degrees. I expected to feel elation that winter had finally passed, but a harsh, empty quality of the light made everything seem alien, as if I were suddenly thrust into one of an infinite number of alternate universes. There is no home here, I thought, nor familiar faces. Actually there are no faces, not even mine.
