Every Twenty Minutes for Twenty Seconds

By Robyn Tait

Jagged flashing lines suddenly appeared on the left side of my vision, so I had to stop my long stare at the screen and lie down on the plump leather couch, palms pressed into my eyeballs, willing them to relax. Visualizing a flow from the firm round orbs down the optic nerve, exhaling into my brain, soothing the frayed synapses.

I had been up before dawn first silhouetted the mountains, hours sliding by as I sat immersed in the writing and rewriting of memoir—hotfooting ...