The Planet Earth (9)

Apart from the minute details of the present moment, Earth consists only of its stories. Some are ancient, and have been worn as smooth as river stones in the stream of language. Others are prinked with bright new paint, and gleam and strut like soldiers on parade.

Someone from Earth may tell the story of what happened the previous day, and in telling, will string together things and events that seem interesting, or which are like other stories of other times and places. In this way the telling will skip across the day like a stone spun out over the surface of a still lake. Later, as that time is recalled, the words will have replaced the experience of events. For humans, all the past is threaded on strands of stories and is found in memory by following the trails of these yarns.

There is a narrative that you weave which is as complicated as lace. It is the story of your life. In between this web of language the world continues, seen but not remembered. Everywhere leaves fall, moles burrow in the dark, tiny animals pursue their business, and all of Earth pokes through the spaces that have not been woven shut, wild and nameless, real but empty.