Some things are so reliably true that we cease being aware of them. Like our eyes, our minds tend to require edges for accurate perception. Things change from true to truism before we notice. Soon we know them only as cliches, and their truth becomes embarassing for its silly consistency. We afford more respect to things that are miserly in their revelations, plain as life one moment and radiant with transcendence the next.

For example, sunsets are often genuinely beautiful. We sit on a porch together one evening and let the blushing light fill us with the unusual sensation that all is right with the world. No one moves for a while. As the day shades into gloom the insects emerge, first the metalic hiss of cicadas and then homing drones of mosquitos. We break the spell with a little collective sigh, hoisting ourselves from the deck chairs and heading inside to fix dinner. We don't talk about that feeling the next day. It was a sunset, the fluff of greeting cards and soap operas. Without quite knowing why, we're ashamed to admit how happy it made us all.