I think life is far too short to concentrate on your past. I'd rather look to the future, like November 16th for example. - Lou Reed (paraphrase)
November 16th is precisely three miles away from today. Of course, this does not take into account the deviation of light from a straight line as it passes through the atmosphere due to the variation of air density as a function of altitude (a.k.a. "atmospheric refraction").
Atmospheric refraction is responsible for that mirage making distant objects near the ground appear to shimmer, ripple or otherwise transform in shape.
What isn't a mirage?
Today was the workplace's fall harvest department picnic. There were apples, though this region produces none. There were beer steins placed on each table as a centerpiece, though they contained no frothy, ice cold beverages.
Both mirages.
There were smiles and small talk and general congeniality.
Mirage, mirage, mirage.
Mirage or not, the deviation from monotony and routine was welcomed with open arms and all performances by the cast and crew were quite compelling, as all the gentlemen adhered to the rules of verse, and the ladies, well, they promptly rolled their eyes at the gentlemen adhering to the rules of verse.
I'm certain that if one were to stand back and look at this gathering of the departmentally ill from a distance, we'd all appear to shimmer and ripple.
One coworker remained inside, abstaining from the festivities, however. Perhaps Mitch was far too busy creating air turbulence, causing the stars to twinkle and deforming the shape of the sun on the horizon. Or maybe he just had a lot of really important work to do.
Today's Jazz Hands took a walk on the wild side.
Day three-hundred and two complete.
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