Is it possible to “try to pretend”?
I’m inclined to say pretending is, by its nature, trying. This would mean “trying to pretend” is redundant.
Isn’t it amazing the insights one gains out of reading a new book?
An inchworm is a fascinating critter to observe, as I recently discovered.
S/he would make its steady way up to a pine needle, nibble on it, and push it away. The hapless inchworm sometimes found itself upside down, looking remarkably like a puppy battling a particularly tough blade of grass.
A brief struggle to right itself, then on to the next tidbit: a bit of seed or bark or perhaps moss. Most items fared the same as the pine needles: thrust aside, sometimes spit out, discarded in favor of the next bite.
Ah, the endless interest to be found in watching the littlest beings among us!
The second time I stood at the clothesline pinning up hankies I recalled with satisfaction the piece I had just written. Not like the first time I stood there, wearing the same clothes, feeling the same pleasant breeze, pinning up the same hankies under the same sunny sky, frowning slightly because the piece wasn’t quite right, it lacked the finesse I sought.
Is that what deja vu is, a glimpse at the things we have done correctly when they could have gone differently?