Materializing out of infinite thoughts is the world around me, bursting with the very stuff of all creation. Its cold outside. Annie Dillard in her cabin forty years ago wrote about this very thing. A simple longing for an understanding of the complex. And now I have it, in the silence of a new year. In the silent longing of one to hold near. I see your face and it is glowing so brightly, it doesn't surprise me that no one can see you as you walk into the dark.

I'm here secretly stalking muskrats as they run in and out, hiding behind our words and feelings. Do you perceive yourself to be alone. You're alone with the Alone, and yet there, precisely in that spot, we find rest.

I talk to you tomorrow, I am sure.