taking a break from work to stroll thru sarasota

kept company by the wind and the myriad sounds of the world that the wind animates just by doing what it is born to do, i am moving thru space and time unoccupied yet far from vacant.

i move thru the world as the world moves thru me.

the world is made of things: shells, bicycles, clocks, spoons, ponds, sneakers, eggs—and those things are made of sound.

this is the thing i have been told and that i believe.

i believe because it sounds right to my ear made of sound, and not everything does.

~

sometimes the words just run out on me.

sometimes i sit in the place where i am and there are words there, here and there, but they aren’t mine to speak. they don’t occur to me, and by occur, i mean move out into the world thru my mind as if they came from there.

this is practice.

the sound i seem to be seeking to make, mysterious and at least mostly true, takes practice. is practice.

i am learning a whole new way to speak, in service to the thing i used to feel superior to.

reaching with long arms of language towards a thing whose name has not quite yet occurred.

but i am reaching.

i am stretching.

i am beginning to make a sound.