The small cockroach marched on all legs in a straight line across the vast expanse of an old wood floor, going where?  It halted at spots here or there, but he couldn’t discern its business at those stops because there appeared to be nothing there.  It then turned away from the direction to the wall he thought it was headed and made a couple of more stops before going diagonally in reverse.  A couple of turns with intermittent stops brought it back to its original straight line, which it crossed over.  He watched more turns and then became suddenly aware that he had turned back to his newspaper a while ago and lost track of the cockroach.  He stood immediately and stepped gingerly around the floor.  It had to still be in sight, but even on knees it could not be seen.  He sat back down.  He had been tracking a story in the newspaper for three days now and it too had suddenly disappeared from sight, with nothing left explained.  Was he just not seeing?  Surely, the roach and the story were still there in plain sight, but could it be that focusing on them made them retreat, appear too small to see?  After all, things we haven’t seen yet, or have just seen, do invariably loom large.  Could its reverse also be true?  Could focused seeing lead to blindness?  He dropped the paper and left the room.  He’d return the next day, not focused on anything, able to see afresh, and there they’d be, the roach and the story.