the silence of this morning carries with me through the day, a hand on the small of my back, coming with me the places i am going. we have done this before, you and i, me and silence. last night, walking home through the distance between the earth and the top of things, between all the space and fracturing sound, i found a tractor, parked on the street. it was more silent than anything else, large in its overloaded way, hollow at the front. sitting there it reminded me of the man on the tram, rounded and heavy on his chair, soft for the hardness of lines on his face. sometimes it feels as if i cannot breathe, that there is too much of the world for me to take in, that it is impossible. i wonder how to carry things three handed, i wonder if this would help, through the volume of experience. sometimes breathing is not enough. sometimes we forget our own deference. but sometimes, other times, we remember that we cannot fly like the birds do, or jump up high, and we remember to be humble.