He does not speak: he tells./No parla: diu.
He does not write: he acts./No escriu: fa.
He does not reason: he liberates./No raona: emancipa.
He does not offer: he gives./No ofereix: dóna.
He does not fall in love: he loves./No s’enamora: ama.
Who is he? Ω It’s from the Readings of J. V. Foix. I stumble across some unusual things in my walk across the universe. I was looking for the essence de la terra, but I have never found it on the internet.
I look at the clock; it is 11:11 pm when I start this entry. There, on the river glides a barge, with that unmistakable sound of the tug’s engines on high water, a high and low sound both at once…a sound that goes into one’s bones. It’s a sound that takes some getting used to in a river valley. The echo between the hills. It chugs long after it has passed under my window. The odd harmonics turns into one long hum. I feel it in my bones and think runes/rune. It’s whisper quiet for but a moment. There are times I feel I must be listening to… another time. Something unspoken, maybe something forgotten, yet somehow familiar. I listen as best I can. It’s not like I am an expert in this, whatever it is.
The beau turned the TV off and went to sleep. It is as quiet as it can be here, with the near-apnea snores, and the passing cars, which never leave the quiet alone for more than five minutes. I know, I have watched and counted. Five minutes can be long time, everything is relative. He wakes and sleeps, and I know as soon as I try to sleep, he will be up and on the computer again. I need to do what I do now.
I think of trees whispering, and the form that I see is 
that which I took a photo of years ago, when the mission was in town. One of the photos was a young sycamore tree along the Cincinnati riverfront with what appeared to me to be a figure in it. It wasn’t carved in it, but a slightly raised figure. I thought I saw a haloed form in the tree when I took the photo. It’s been awhile. The camera did a decent job, but scanning the black and white photo did not let the form be revealed as well as holding it in one’s hands. Some photos are like that. It’s another one of those photos that was on the disc, and the negative, but not in the packet when I picked the photos up. You probably get the idea. 
Every now and then that happens. I have to ask for the photos. It’s funny which photos are missing sometimes. Of course, I have rolls of undeveloped film sitting, waiting for the day when I can afford to have them developed. I hope the film is not ruined before that happens. I have been waiting three years on some rolls. Much is revealed through my lens. See why I thought of the rune? It was whispering….
Time for me to hit the hay now. It’s already tomorrow here.
