this expansive silence

i don't wait, that would be a lie.
i rarely sit still, however. my hands are busy with time, with action and blind-sided forward motion.
i scrape deep, not blindly but with an addled purpose.
a sort of half-aware illumination,
dimly present amongst the slag draining to daylight.
maybe i shouldn't say it like that.
maybe i should belt out some dead hymn to glory, or scratch a sad prosaic missive, or document the regularities of today like so many facts, unheeded.
but i don't wait. this quiet is not a stillness, and my direction is without form.
formless, I don't wait.

the expansiveness of now is overwhelming, therefore i dither in the details of the day, such as the caloric content of raisin bran or the likelihood of another frost.
you see, this sustains me.
and yet there is something in the fluid moment of spring, now sprung, when the gray air clears and green becomes a color once again.
when dirt loses its snowmelt and becomes a basepath again, a garden row, an empty lot.

i recommend the moving stillness, the expansive silence, the breathless maw.
here i have found it once again.