“Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.” – William Faulkner. 

Daily blogs are humbling. They push me into a place where I spend a good hour or more each night staring at these little letter combinations, wondering if they are saying anything worth typing or reading.

The air was wet and thick today. I went on a trail run, dew and milky sunlight illuminating rows and rows of beaded spiderwebs around the path. It was quiet; my footsteps on the dirt were rhythmic and, in between thoughts of needing to improve my cardio, I appreciated how present I felt in that space.

I was hyper aware of every bird call above me and every rustle of the bushes below me. I stopped at a bridge and watched ducks lazily loop through thick pond water, framed by mountains in the distance, and disappearing into sunlight so bright on the water that I had to look away.

Sometimes, I will have lots of things to say on here. Especially as my philosophy, anthropology, and psychology courses pick up momentum this semester. Other days, I will just want to find patches of sunlight to sit in, to absorb the silence of my little house, or to feel the simultaneous emptiness and heartbreaking fullness of staring up at the stars on a cold, clear January night.

Mostly though, I’m still feeling quiet as I sit on large topics which I feel too staggered by to break down into a cohesive blog post. I know that I’m unsettled with where things have been going globally. I don’t know how to fit my voice into these conversations yet.

Instead, I ran. I wrote about what I know: the feeling of the forest air in my lungs. And I continue to sit, stew, and think about these things that my fingertips can’t contain.

“How pathetic it is to describe these things which can’t truly be described.” – Anne Rice. 


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