I have no interest in talking, for a while, unless you have feathers, or four paws and a tail; you sway in the strong breeze in a leafy dance I can only dream about – imagine such freedom up there. Kissing the sky. Just talking to a couple of friends the other day was exhausting. Teary. After so aggressively leaving people be. Likely not a person on the street gives a rat’s butt about my headphone world, and I note that – to all of us – like I note a paper from the frozen credit agency, or no table inside the coffee shop.
I have accepted this isolation the way I accepted the flowing water in San Luis Obispo Creek. A leaf floating in the current along the trail, a leaf floating down the city street, my dawdle partners. There’s no difference.
I don’t know enough to know how to behave. On a path – it’s not forgetting, it’s not remembering. It’s just close the window before the rain comes. And do I need another blanket? I look in the mirror and a mountain goat looks back. So it’s no wonder. No wonder. No wonder.
A few words and sleepy looks calling forth a wildness, right here. Very quiet.
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