I'm sitting in class, and the lecture begins to grow tedious. So I dig in my bag for something to eat, and soon pull out a large red apple. Letting out a relaxed sigh, I escape the classroom, taking a large, enthusiastic bite of the apple and letting my gaze slip from the room and out across the campus.
And then, for a fraction of time, I find myself looking from a farmhouse window. I step from the house and gaze across a garden full of life, the youthful vines winding their way up the delicate wood lattices, the plump red tomatoes hanging with such realism that I can even taste them, and the water droplets glinting across the entire crystal-clear scene.
Beyond the garden is a sea of tall, green grass, and through this grass, along a muddy trail, come the children from the school house, skipping with books under their arms.
And all this has come in a single dawning of memory-like experience. After only a second I am once more paying attention to the campus buildings and the people walking stiffly along the cement paths.
I blink and return my eyes to the board. Calculus, anyone?