He spoke of tremendous mysteries buried in numbers.
“Right under your nose,” he would say.
He’d spend an hour on the symbolism etched into the dollar, fill a notepad with calculations of its hidden meanings.
He counted everything.
Once I found him in the yard counting the needles on a pine tree, convinced the numbers would reveal a code.
Once I found him dissecting a robin, studying the entrails with a magnifying glass.
He said it held the secret.
“The secret of what?” I asked him.
He pointed at the world.
He tapped his chest.
“And in here.”