Silence is Beauty

What do I think about when I think about nothing. When I don't think of things I need to do, need to remember, need to work on. All this thought about me, work, details, tasks, pursuits. Do I think about things when I'm not thinking about that. Where does my mind go when I sleep? Back to work? Do I really ruminate about the things I post here, certainly not, this is a dumping ground too often for the trite.

My days are filled with music, conversation, writing, words, melodies, listening. Do I even think about the things that pass me by. I check them off. I check off my day, and I start making lists for the next. I look forward to mundane tasks, making a meal, cleaning a space completing a job. I have become a simple, small, person in a world filled with so many words and so much silence.

The snow is silence that speaks. So loudly. It draws me back to daydream. And as I converse, I daydream, I realize that perhaps everyday I daydream - as I believe in this self of fun, dynamic, exicing. A vision I once created from imperfect mirrors of others, of my own, me -- doing things! I did things! and I still think of myself as with that real person of life! . Now I feel so chained to stress and a desk, but it is so small, and so simple, and so mundane - so far from a chain or deep stress. I glaze it over with the daydream vision of an alternate self. A mysterious future. Factual and vague blogs usually wallpaper this space. But today, I speak to daydreaming. I daydream too much of a fictional path, the same daydreams I had as a little girl, though somehow, as I've drawn closer, only the rigid details have come into focus, and so much of the rest remains obscured that together a youthful daydream of adulthood has become a tenuous blur. Perhaps I have arrived, or I am still too far off, or I'm going through much to quickly to see the images.

But we made snow angels and tasted the nothingness on our tongues.