Walking in the early morning mists of a spring morning in a
Heartland city is not quite the same as standing on a ridge in the Appalachians
watching the clouds roll in, but there is a sense of one-ness that comes with
each.
Maybe because I am not normally an early morning person,
these times seem especially sacred to me.
The constant hum of traffic is not the same as the
insouciant sound of sea waves lapping against the black rocks of a far away
cliff, but there is a sameness here too.
There is always background noise and sunrise and sunset everywhere
I go and I find a strange kind of comfort in that.
Once I thought traffic was not natural, but I am not so sure
anymore. Is traffic any less natural
than anthills and bird nests? It is a
thing created by an earthling, albeit a more destructive thing than most
others, but on an infinite scale probably not much more important.
Perspective is daunting.
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