int[rover]sion

There are brief moments of clarity in my clouds of mere existence. Most of the time I am uneasily staggering in the direction dictated by whatever wind is blowing hardest: deadlines, chores, people in need of attention. Once in a long while the winds fall silent, creating a brief moment without instructions as to where I should be or what I should be doing. It is in that fleeting span of time, I find, I'm most lucid.

I can see her at her clearest. She's no pretty sight but she is very familiar. And while she respects the powers of the winds, she is happiest when they do not blow. She is happiest not alone, but in the silences that punctuate her moments-with-company.