My mind is blank.  My mind is the great savanah, lying dormant and alive under the teeming herds of zebra and gazelle, beneath the restful pride of lions, the cackling jackals.  I am open and watchful.  Weary and cautious.

No.  Correction.  My mind is the great ice flows that cover the frozen oceans of the epic Northward expanse.  Slowly, turgidly grinding under the surface, impossibly dense and viscous.  Invisibly full and fertile.

I've had a drink and sit at a bar on the outskirts of a nearby city and hear a babble of human communication as music, as the racing confusion of a river.

I look to the door as if I expect to be joined by a friend, but nobody knows I am here.  It is a rare and delicate feeling.  I bottle it and put it away.

I resolve to move off the map more often.  I don't even believe my own resolution.

How often do I feel free, that anything's possible?  How often do I look at others, look at strangers, and think anything is possible between us?

I feel lonely and free all at once.

A suburban street.  A city street.  A metal garage door painted red.  A green plastic trash can leans against it.  Right there in this, the entire civilized world is captured.  All of its pleasures and pain, all of its problems and comforts.  This is the image I keep and put in the top right drawer of the desk to remember.  Later I'll pull out this image and wonder, why was this important?