Jasika Nicole

And boy, do I. I get out of the car.

In front of me is a sweep of flat nothing.

Gray dirt and a few weeds so tough and prickly they could grow on the moon, and they basically are.

A slow incline up to some mountains so unimpressive and remote that possibly no one has ever bothered to name them.

That's the first thing I see.

But I see something else.

There is a highway, winding its way through a thick forest.

Up ahead, a town, neat brick buildings, and something quaint but industrial, a mill maybe.

I see the glitter of water in a river next to the highway.

I can smell, only slightly, the deep murk of fresh water.

I do not see this forest road instead of the desert landscape.

It is on top of it.

Here's what it's like.

If you have a brain that thinks visually, which I was so surprised to learn some people don't, then picture this.

Picture yourself peeling an orange.

See your fingers on the peel.

See the fruit as the peel is removed.

But also, keep your eyes open.

Look at what is in front of you.

You are simultaneously seeing the orange being peeled, and you are seeing the real world around you.