I lay down on the floor of my office this afternoon to look at my Big Black Hole. My Big Black Hole that isn't so big or black anymore, so maybe I should just rename it my Medium Sized Brownish Hole.
I asked why it was pestering me, although I expected I knew the answer. But it wasn't speaking to me. It just sort of sat there brownish and glowering. I thought it was rather enlightened of me to ask what it had to say for itself. I expected some sort of cavernous yet profound response. Then I could have written a blog entry entitled Speaking to the Darkness. I could even have had a little cult following with a blog entry title like that.
But my taciturn hole wouldn't cooperate. So I thought about clouds instead. And the way sunlight reflects off them, and how I would like to fly a little plane above them, and film a mammoth herd of them to a soundtrack of Explosions in the Sky and Sigur Rós.
Clouds are the other side of my Big Black Hole, an ethereal counterpart. Most of the time they are just as silent.
1 comment:
Remember when I used to visit your office and sit in the swivel chair across from you, discussing things like pet allergies (with Deb), new boots, liturgically obsessed co-workers, and Pumpkin's online profile? I'm sorry, but after the part about you lying on your office floor, I couldn't concentrate on the part about the clouds b/c I started missing the days when I could hang out in your office.
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