Matty Matte Modge Podge

So many things, Frederick, then, quiet now they all disperse, and disperse only to resurface when tension builds. We walked today and you were quiet, a silent judge, hailed above the rest, an exception to the rule in many senses. What is it that we do exactly to make things easier. For me, Frederick, you said it was the fact that I was able to realize all things do not eventually come to a crashing halt, but that the things we have to do, those that need to get done, life tasks, will get done; regardless of any extra effort exuded by myself. So we are merely quiet and frail as humans, calm and controlled, doing our piece to create a whole, of something, not necessarily of a "whole of existence", or of a "whole of society and community", but a whole of ourselves, pieces of a puzzle to create an "image of a train station in the rain, with blurred outline of a man or woman waiting at the station edge, for a light in the distance, to come and take them away!"...

Slow, Frederick, my breath extended, my chest rising, and along this hazy day, I watched as the clouded sky sighed, as I might, as if knowing that its current plans are going to be washed away; not much unlike the branches, tree limbs, and full tree bodies down Route 15! The wind scuttled, Frederick, and the branches fingers scratched at window panes, they too, whispering, Scuttle, Scuttle, Scuttle. And what of those wooden framed windows, on their track with painted thick rope pieces, only able to be risen or lowered if both sides are exactly parallel to each other; what of those Frederick, rickety, rickety shaken by the winds massive hands, the knuckles white where they gripped tight the window sides. Behind them, Frederick, the reckoning of the mind, subtle slowness encapsulating, and vertical and horizontal motions cease. Beyond those Windows it's Monday, I think , you say Tuesday, along the main street, we walking, you to the left of where you walked, to the right of the stre...