Now is it a tree or a god there, showing through
the rusted gate?
–Jorge Luis Borges
I spent the day walking the long way around the island–a problem of logic, there is never a long way with islands, unless the metaphysics of the thing enters your head. I chose the path with the cinnamon ferns and the birch that looks like a far away angel. I chose the path where the day was blanched in white light. I walked bent in the way of the old knife grinder who came to our house when I was a boy. I now know, though I can’t tell you how, that this tinker was one of the followers of Pythagoras. I suspect he was a veteran of the first world war. I walked bent over in the blank lowlands of the island, my feet sinking in wet sand. How I love walking blindly in the woods. I love to be blind like paths and trees.
Planet of the Blind 
My daughter was diagnosed PDD-NOS 12 years ago. Just as each victim’s place along the spectrum is different so should their treatment. Generically cold packing them & stuffing them into a room wreaks of the mistreatment the autistic circa 1900.
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