Zenith sunlight performs a peculiar signature: it doesn’t create shadows. The summer so hot to make unbreathable the air made itself clear to me, as like as one of a kind of measureless glare. The absolute light that all unveils: without shape, without size. She made thoughts ecstatic by nearly stopping me in my tracks, roaming them in the open for everyone to see and merging me with it; me imbued in my own shadow. Maybe I was not able to look at light as long as I had a distinct shape, so to speak. Thanks to this eye unceasingly open, whereby to see and to be seen are being assimilated, I by and by turned into the light I was looking at. ...