Monday, September 21, 2009
one hundred starlings writing words with their wings
i like the way the streets are deserted at 5am; how you can barely tell it's morning. you can walk and hear nothing but your heartbeat and your footsteps. wisps of dream drift like smoke from sleepers in their beds. the sky is particularly mysterious. and if you are awake enough, if you are paying attention, you can hear the faint murmurings of some secret being whispered, meant only for you, in only that moment, and you never can hear the whole thing. but i think it's a process; that you gather all the bits you can find until you have enough to put it together. and that's wisdom. like saving up for a piggy bank. i think if there is anything we are meant to learn, it's that.