Cropped Dali
On days like this one was, it is difficult to have a thought at all, much less an unfettered one.
Today was one of those days where I couldn’t seem to clear my head of the clutter. It was a busy brain day, a day where my thoughts kept getting crowded out by things that needed to be done, by other people, by outside distractions, by noise. It was a noisy day; a noisy brain day. I could not get my mind to quiet down.
In brief quiet moments, I would have quick flashes of thoughts that were gone before I could catch them. Mostly, my brain would just jump to the next thing on the agenda, or something would just push its way in.
Later in the day, I thought of a window. I closed my eyes, relaxed. I could see it from a distance… in a room… there are people in the room… two people… something is out the window… if only I could look through… Nope. I can’t get there. Today is not a day for that.
As midnight approaches, I find myself thinking about those two people, about some of the windows they’ve looked through, and what they’ve seen. I see an orange cat stalking a partridge, and the two people yelling and banging on the window to scare the bird away. I see a big green lawn in Baddeck, with and a single robin oblivious to the fact that his morning search for sustenance has garnered an audience. I see the ocean, off Brier Island, Rose Blanche, New Victoria, somewhere in the Cabot Strait. I see the sun, rain, snow, the moon, stars, lightning. I see a thousand-thousand images, each now tucked away in a special place somewhere.
I can’t see through that damn window from earlier today, though. It’s gone. What happens to a thought unthought, a dream undreamt? Do they come back? Are they waiting in a queue somewhere, waiting to be unspooled at the first available convenience?
Will I ever see that window again?
If I do, I hope it happens on a quieter day.
Today was one of those days where I couldn’t seem to clear my head of the clutter. It was a busy brain day, a day where my thoughts kept getting crowded out by things that needed to be done, by other people, by outside distractions, by noise. It was a noisy day; a noisy brain day. I could not get my mind to quiet down.
In brief quiet moments, I would have quick flashes of thoughts that were gone before I could catch them. Mostly, my brain would just jump to the next thing on the agenda, or something would just push its way in.
Later in the day, I thought of a window. I closed my eyes, relaxed. I could see it from a distance… in a room… there are people in the room… two people… something is out the window… if only I could look through… Nope. I can’t get there. Today is not a day for that.
As midnight approaches, I find myself thinking about those two people, about some of the windows they’ve looked through, and what they’ve seen. I see an orange cat stalking a partridge, and the two people yelling and banging on the window to scare the bird away. I see a big green lawn in Baddeck, with and a single robin oblivious to the fact that his morning search for sustenance has garnered an audience. I see the ocean, off Brier Island, Rose Blanche, New Victoria, somewhere in the Cabot Strait. I see the sun, rain, snow, the moon, stars, lightning. I see a thousand-thousand images, each now tucked away in a special place somewhere.
I can’t see through that damn window from earlier today, though. It’s gone. What happens to a thought unthought, a dream undreamt? Do they come back? Are they waiting in a queue somewhere, waiting to be unspooled at the first available convenience?
Will I ever see that window again?
If I do, I hope it happens on a quieter day.
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