In the orchestra of the universe, every shimmer is a note played by an invisible maestro, conducting a symphony composed in silence. Today, I caught the shimmer of my neighbor's cat trying to meditate at the edge of our shared fence—an unintentional yoga class for felines. It’s a compelling image: a cat, poised and serious, attempting to refine its inner meow while I, mere human, fail to make peace with my breakfast cereal.
Shimmers come and go like a summer storm: sudden, unpredictable, and often filled with the smell of rain on dry pavement. They are the winks of fate, jazz hands of destiny, and sometimes, they are just the reflection of sunlight off a disco ball in someone's living room who probably hasn't used it since 1982.