L'Horizon

Lyrics

The engine hums.A low constant.The world is a blur at the edges.The white lines, they flicker, they rush to meet us and then they are gone.The trees on the roadside, a green smear.A watercolor wash of speed.But look.Straight ahead.Where the asphalt vanishes.There is a point that does not move.A single, silent dot on the windshield.Everything pours from it.Everything rushes away from it.The focus of expansion.The still heart of our forward motion.This is the geometry of the journey.The optic flow.James Gibson saw it from a cockpit in the forties.He said the pattern specifies the path.No thinking required.The eye knows the way.The horizon pulls everything from that one still point.L'horizon.Imagine him then, the pilot.Gloves on the controls, the hum of the engine a beast beneath him.The landing strip growing, expanding, rising to meet him.He doesn't calculate the math.His body reads the flow.This widening world tells him when.The time-to-contact.The gentle, terrifying arrival.We do it every day.Avoiding the curb, catching the ball, meeting a gaze across the room.This is the geometry of the journey.The optic flow.James Gibson saw it from a cockpit in the forties.He said the pattern specifies the path.No thinking required.The eye knows the way.The horizon pulls everything from that one still point.L'horizon.Even the butterfly knows.Keeps the world flowing at a constant speed to guide its flight.Even when we are standing still, our bodies sway.A tiny, private dance.And the room shifts, just a little.A secret message to the brain:You are here. You are balanced. You are alive.The road continues.The blur at the edges.And that one point, dead ahead.It never moves.It just... arrives.It just arrives.