Leaving the house to go for coffee with a friend, there was frost everywhere--on my car windows, the grass now yellow--and it seemed to leave a coating on me also, as I entered my car with not enough clothing on me. I drove to the coffee shop in the Pavillion overlooking the lake. On the way there, I passed the golf course. The small ponds were glazed over like broken sheets of glass floating on top of them--not yet the deep white grey ice of winter.
By the time we left, it all had melted. We had been talking about the world of storytelling, about its silences, giving up the need to say you know, but catching ourself mid-stream with the phrase, as we expressed why not to. You know--that phrase that is so often unanswered, overused and covers our needs for agreement from our listenener--a need often unanswered or answered with things like someone looking at their watch, instead of the open moment. Do you know? Frost laying out its blanket has a silence to it. It speaks of something. Can you hear it?
By the time we left, it all had melted. We had been talking about the world of storytelling, about its silences, giving up the need to say you know, but catching ourself mid-stream with the phrase, as we expressed why not to. You know--that phrase that is so often unanswered, overused and covers our needs for agreement from our listenener--a need often unanswered or answered with things like someone looking at their watch, instead of the open moment. Do you know? Frost laying out its blanket has a silence to it. It speaks of something. Can you hear it?
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