I hear the tree of the world under my shoes while walking my dog. You may hear it too, I claim no exception. Anyone can hear the tree. It has the leveling unconsciousness of attenuation and it sways below earth even in winter. Of course you hear it too. The light of day comes. Something infirm and sweet calls but you put it aside. There’s coffee to be made.
I claim no exception, but if blindness has an epistemology its this: I was long ago expelled from the sphere of the senses. I have half a sphere, a concave exaction. And a silver birch. Something to be proud of.
Planet of the Blind 