Day Two Hundred and Forty three

Watching how quickly I turn to follow thought. I follow the sound of a car outside, and from a whisper I already cannot remember, I create a story about it before it has passed my house. I create and listen and create and listen and create. I abandon the fruit of listening more deeply for the insubstantial reward of story.

There is a relationship I have to everything. Sometimes I do not see it but it is there, building up a story or letting itself be. When it is there, really there, it does not create. It plays the song of nature, speaks essential words of concert, rests in its homeland.