Just beneath the surface of life, a river used to surge; fierce, electric, so much moving now still.
Daily patterns recur, iterate like memes incessant; bristle; (get out of my head); slow, attune, resume, each day hard-won, a better view to… perspective?
The heart of the matter. Where is it. That sweet spot where we make out, tender, humane, achingly beautiful stories told, a long conversation, a road trip with a friend, a clearing through woods, a way that is new, open, reassures, speaks to me — wow. Why am I wowed by that?
Ah, well, fellow traveler, the rain won’t materialize, so let’s try another coffee. Or something.