I speak a physical language. Everything that moves me, does so in its form, its texture, the sensual aspects of experiencing it.
I am deeply excited by books, but more by their covers, the size and opacity of the text against a white page, the heft and weight of the compiled paper, the colors chosen for the cover, the dimensions and how they fit against my body as I hold the book, walking home from the library.
Then I love them stacked one on top of the other, like ready-made building blocks, piles and piles of thoughts and ruminations waiting to be devoured.
I love buildings, the way they rise up from the ground. I love the intersection between wall and ground, and the way leaves and dust gather at this important juncture. I love the way sunlight falls against the surfaces of brick, pavement, wood. I love the shadows they create along the street, and the way these shadows changing reminds me of the day’s passing. I love the way trees line streets, each strangely shaped like the human beings that walk along the same paths, neighbors of different worlds.
I love the way branches extend out into a million directions, pointing in all which ways, shivering in the breeze, ecstatic, enigmatic. I love the room I sit in right now, and the perfect barrier that is a glass wall, giving me all the light from outdoor, while protecting me from the elements. Letting me sit, comfortably, and revel in the outside from a safe nook.
I love people and the strange ways they speak, some even like singing. Some lilting up and down in their sentences, some wanting to fill every space with thought. The shape of the laughter or the giggle, I love the texture of each of their voices, and that I can remember a person by just the way they might respond to a “hello!”
I love roads, and all manner of paths, that suggest a going-to somewhere, a change, a discovery from a long or short journey. I love the psychic message I receive from the universe when I say, “I’m going for a walk” as if that statement is evoking the spirits of let-me-work-through-this-
I love the heaviness of fog and cloud, I love the lightness of a clear, bright day. I love the bitter, terrifying cold, I love the way rain makes the world feel like one giant puddle.
I wish I could have a life of reveling in all manner of these things forever.