(t)here

On my car ride from Arizona to New Mexico yesterday, I ran the usual vehicular audio entertainment gamut; starting slow and deliberate with NPR,
changing pace with predictable cd, (first hour road trip's still a novelty)
and bringing elements of mystery with a shufflin mp3 (combating the monotony of 90 miles of nothing but 'straight')
to finding more pleasure in silence. (Usually takes a build-up; too early and the body tend towards sleep..  because, of course, nights before leavings are always late ones, no matter how diligent the desire to prepare better 'next time'.)

Always a gift, because silence makes silent thoughts
that much more audible.

This time, the combination gave me this:

steady thoughts of New York City, paired with mental associations of friends out together having fun and growing closer as a group (thank you, media) and so, essentially, a universal mindset of metropolitan expectations; community, new sights, old familiar acquaintances, and a diversity of musical and creative outlets -- live shows, drinks with friends, the shared space of cozy wood interior and dim lights and
light clanking, light talking, sometimes close to a friend's ear so it's clear enough, and
time, calm enough to see dust in light beams, and
silhouettes of adoring fellow-appreciators of all things right brained and alive, moving, breathing; left-brained enough to be getting somewhere with all of it.

and the painful realization that everything like this is so far from my life right now, which makes me cry
because silence and alone time make silent thoughts feel that much more emotionally profound, even when the thoughts are simple.

which leads to thinking to God about why my mind and heart treasure 'life like that' so dearly?

"I'm enamored by the hair on the head of the live musician, mussed but shiny in the light, because he's poetic and lives a poetic life."
"and I'm enamored by the silhouettes of all the other warm heads there because they appreciate the value in this."

Is there something in the appreciation of all this I can take away and make a part of my own life now, which time has seen fit to replace (these ideals of songs and friends and nights out) with pine trees, pine trees and
sitting alone on dark gray flannel to bask nightly in the light from the lamp in the far corner, and a string of them draped over the window,
to wonder?

Don't get me wrong God, I like pine trees, but despite the number and length of our visits, they're not the same as friends.

"... but haven't they laughed with you, stayed faithful and relaxed in place, made of having all the time in the world to discuss deep matters together?  And haven't they humbly shared wisdom volumes deeper than
many of those you know with heads and less-rooted lives and occupations?"
. . .
"I want to be with poets."
"Poet here.  Live the beauty of all you see.
I formed trees as enduring friends, but none have
your mout/h/ear/t/ongu/e/yes."