Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me.
-Helen Keller, Three Days to See (1933)
NB: Helen Keller was deaf-blind.
The moment the dame walked in the door I knew she was trouble. Blood-red lips, smoldering eyes, legs from here to Cleveland.
I thought of telling her to scram, but she was my first customer all day. "Ma'am?"
"Coffee, hash browns," she said, settling into a booth. "And two eggs."
"Hard-boiled?" I asked hopefully.
"Scrambled."
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