As I sat at the train crossing for the second time in twenty minutes, watching Amtrak cruise by, an inner voice piped up. It sounded like that sage voice that, in times of stress and crisis, will offer wisdom and advice (which I naturally don’t listen to, because once you start obeying the voices in your head, it sets a really bad precedent for the rest of the brain.)

It said, “You know, that indigo bunting wouldn’t scan worth shit.”

I considered this. The train continued to pass.

“First of all, it’s blue, and the scanner totally eats blue tones, and secondly, it’s really only blue because of the light refraction, and you know how the scanner eats gold leaf. There’s probably a good way to photograph ’em, but they just wouldn’t scan.”

The train finished passing. The bars began the pre-lifting joggling motion.

“It probably wouldn’t like being wedged onto the scanner bed, either,” the voice offered, and then felt silent. I drove across the tracks and on down the road.

Either my life is so good that this is my most burning issue, or man, I need a better class of ephiphanies.

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