From the top it looked like 2 giant, naval style oranges frantically trying to merge. But from the bottom: 2 dancers (with All Orange highlighted), obviously having a good time with their parachutes.
Where did they drop in from?
“Questions,” warned W, still observing from somewhere nearby, perhaps behind that palm tree with the woody woodpecker pecking up the wrong, Yelloo upward.
“More dancers nearby,” spoke observing George now, hidden at the bottom of his small pool. Big George, small pool. A Lake he just proclaimed it ironically enough, but more firmly aligning himself with TILE. MUST STUDY.
“Channeler,” I observed myself. “TILE.”
And now: correct upwards.
“Oh, I know. Blue blue blue!” George cried, knowing we were one short in that category. But which one? Michigan: above and beyond them both. The 26th. Where was this photo-novel, 26 in a series of something, taking us?
I could feel W frowning behind that left-behind tree.
Younger George now: “I always wanted to play this game. Richochet.” He tosses another marble, perhaps a blue.
“This is your time, George. Enjoy the game! Soon you will be 13 again and forget about all this.”
“No I won’t!” he protested to the big eye, and gathered up what he tossed while marking the spot of the furthest marble for future reference.
“We are almost done here, George. It’s time to find your future place in the spheres.”
“I won’t let you down!”