I hear a familiar song, the ambience, this hotel. It's a relatively quiet place for the first hour or so of their new day. The song, Stephen Stills, from Buffalo Springfield, or Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young - "a different kind of poverty now" - the words float, I hear the music, words become indistinct, the music becomes sound, tone of voice, attitude, mood, being. For a short moment hearing becomes listening, and listening mingles with my mood, my rhythm, my body, 'almost no mind'.
Coming alive to a new day, a walk, wind, currents, a blanket of grey cloud, soft, everything moving, I mingle with the day, a different sense of time - just for a short while.
It's 08:00 on my iPhone screen again, time to go into the day, I sometimes linger a little longer. A moment of presence, not being present, being between, actually not even being 'between', just mingling for a moment, a hesitancy, a dissipation of thought, no after, no before, no thing.
OK, today is here, moving into today, to pick up some food from the shops, and back to making books - reflecting on 2008, pictures, a few words, scattered thoughts and feelings, not making sense, sense growing from the mulch, composting, and a little composing, a song, a lyric, a touch of sense, feeling sense.