He couldn't see himself.
He could never see himself in his dreams. He could not imagine his face or even his eyes. This set him off from others and, though it was not the most remarkable thing about him it was the most persistently different.
The evening began to settle into its radiance. Far off to the West, the heavens touched green fields with mist and spray. From this highest point in the city one could see the entire shadow-streaked valley. He gazed out the windows of the immense building and watched the day die.
He thought, I can tell you one thing...it wasn't the airplanes.
Thoughts of beauty. The rain fell in lighten blue cadence, fading across walls and storybook pastures turning memory persistently in time into time faded. Light, at last, descended from hard, cold skies, developed dangers and passed out into silver oblivion.
He could not see himself, but there was much he could see.
