A short length of wire

Filament, fickle and fragile. Our bond is just as this. it can shine so bright and break so easy. I do not know how we have fallen upon this road {the gray macadam} almost smooth until examined to reveal a never=ending network of mountains and valleys. Our perception is limited to our ability to conceive its boundary. So then why do I conceive such a limited range??, why is my perception limited by my ability to express what I assimilate??> There are shortcuts that people take, filling in the gaps with garbage, substances that are not substantive...a crushed receipt fluttering away in the wind. They toss words out into the world polluting with a thoughtless thought, a race to fill the refuse bin constructed of wrinkled gooey flesh. Feeling without sensation, such a fragile and amazing mechanism, I remember the rain now, coming back to me like a drink with an old friend. Spirits lifted, (a pun this late in the game?) The sun sees its chance and cuts through the clouds to create a confused brilliance at a late hour, a world of gray with squares of gold reflecting toward me pulling me from my window and out into. The sounds of that world documented in my mind, these are the sounds that lead me to peace. Sounds not orchestrated by an individual, but by many people and an animate world constantly in motion. I took a trip once, a while back and was impressed by a town because it seemed so quiet, there were people and activity but it felt like the world was muffled, it seemed incredible at the time, but it was really only how I perceived my surround that was different. I looked at this town in wonder, with eyes wide open to take in all. The sounds that I loved about that place were no different then the sounds of my home. The difference was that I had tuned out the world that I lived in. Placed a note on it saying “nothing special, just ignore” in my mental map. I now question if I do this with people, how available am I in the current moment? The road is dark now, not unpleasant, but dark, I have drawn into myself and have lost track of my surroundings again, the streetlights attempt to embody their namesake pouring a dull yellow orange over the dark, the collection of lights take turns shining turning on and off in a pattern that I am unwilling to wait to decipher. I am reminded again of our bond shining brightly, fragile, and fickle. a light turns off again.