I chopped green peppers; making the knife jag crossslant at the end of every cut because it is a cheap one from before our wedding registry. It was a night alone, house to myself, and I decided I would eat this curry while only listening to the television. I congratulated myself at the restraint- only listening to one thing at a time. Silly to be so busy in mind to be happy with that, perhaps wary of actual, humming silence. I stepped back a moment and tapped into the sounds that had allowed a moment’s thought to bustle to the surface; how little I often listen to myself think: rounding tumble of the sheets in the dryer (washed on hot to welcome the crisp newness of that night’s sleep), sizzle of those green peppers hitting a black-bottomed pan, and a looming white noise of nothing else. I could hear my heart beat in my ears and feel my lips move one over the other in a nervous maneuver. This level of noise, perhaps this is the level that allows the mind to wander but find itself again. It was in this level of noise that I could no longer contain it and had to come write it down. A level that lets thoughts find one another and knit together an idea; a level that welcomes a neat refrain of contented sighs settling in for a long winter’s nap.
It’s the simple things that aren’t.