The cave I visit in my memory casts shadows on the ceiling, tall, skinny men, dancing in time with the angle of my flashlight. Their silhouetted moves jar, then disappear as the cave breathes — in, out, in, out, as my steps go up, down, up, down, slip, slide, up, down, slip, slide. I make my way down the tongue of a fossilized beast. I hide and play with the men on the ceiling.
But its really just my memory who wants to play peek-a-boo.
I realize what I know came from a Viewfinder and its accompanying reel from Carlsbad Caverns, purchased at a garage sale when I was 5.
I wonder.. what reality will our children claim for themselves after this digital age?