Is it to quiet for you to write? — Maybe

On my mind right now is this book about five houses. It speaks about the details of abstraction, that’s what a line reads from it at least. It could begin with a range and a season a sort of staggering simplicity among modern scenes. I really was unsure how many sketches were completed. There is a store of lights a few blocks away, why not walk in there tomorrow. Across the street, there is another store alike. What makes these reserves different loose stitchings of melted snow I must understand. It’s a distance of walking, but I pass it never permitted foot just as that restaurant and the frames familiar to me. Has this translated as it was spoken yet? The cabin has openings including solid oak walls, I’m there now. There is this wood burning stove, so it’s warm here, the books hang off the limitations. There is a reminder set, these twin light shops one is white one is gold. A place I imagined to become fabricated turned to me once more like a place I am comparatively a waking dream. There’s a dog downstairs as it’s the warmest place I’ve ever been. The Father of the house makes mention to me of the slopes formed from the snow right over there on the cabin unmarked with two lovers next door. Couldn’t be assumed we didn’t speak the same language as it felt he wanted me to notice something I would have appreciated if only I could have recognized. They are flying around with my gadget unsound. I knew to write in that book something I can treasure. The tranquillity made it hard to sleep, the feelings of missing the silence if not permitted oneself to full appreciation of the cars seen down the one road miles away. Such stillness where the expectations of things moving far away felt close as if the gravity of destinations found their way into the room. But you are on a mountain, and your view is miles away, and the storm is singing that melody of masonry. I saw her find her calling right before my eyes, it fractured me and opened me up. A blanket covered me; I felt no longer alone in the great render. For the first time I counted those lines, they were of seven rows, and it was pleasant to allow discovery once more. The melodies were connecting to the next as a doorway leads to a key. ‘loose stitchings of fallen snow’

ph by me

Standardized Examinations