to talk is not to listen

reality. the sound of the tides, the scent of the freshly cut grass, birdsong and green apples, the gates of death and birth or just the noise of the airplane crossing above my house, all is a song. i always wished i could play music, but what if i could do it? words are not listening, they can be like dead animals stuck on a wall. to make music does not mean living. silence and presence are all. no words.