The sun spins on the horizon, projecting light between trees where the thickets have become thinnets. I am driving home, then nowhere in particular, only subtly aware of the synchronized flickering of 24 frames per second and 48 miles per hour. This cinematic illusion replays scenes from my favorite forgotten classics: tales of childhood bliss, loves lost, friends found, moments missed. The reel ends as I pull into my driveway, retinas resisting the darkness of the theater outside. The sun will rise tomorrow, and I'm eagerly awaiting the sequel from nature's zoetrope.