Xiane’s Blog [091724] a hundred birds take wing

In the space before the rain comes, there’s a great gathering of birds above me; in the trees I hear the clatter and chatter and rustling of feathers and wings of the starlings have come to rest, if anyone can call a chattering of starlings a thing at rest.

I wait patiently for them to move on. They won’t stay roosted for long. Perhaps if I’m lucky they’ll murmurate for me.

I’m at rest where they are not, although my rest is also suspect because my fingers are moving across the keyboard, my mind is moving across my threads of thought.

The delight and sorrow of being a thinking person is that it. never. stops. My brain is constantly turning over thoughts and dreaming up connections. I’m telling myself stories non-stop. There’s an internal monologue that fills every moment, analyzing and commenting and sharing secrets with myself, like there’s more of one of me in there when there certainly is not.

At least I never feel alone. I am my own best company.

Despite that, I still long for someone I could spill all these random sparks of idea and correlation and song lyric and storyline to, free from context or connection, and have them just get it. You know? It’s a pipe dream, I understand that. I can’t just open my head like a cauldron and pour my thoughts over someone’s head. But what a relief it would be.