When I watch a green dot and am asked to listen for 45 seconds, I have 45 seconds of silence.
In that silence I imagine traveling forward or away.
And in that silence come a deck of characters: Wally, Geronimo, someone named Jean, who had just leapt out of a plane.
I also think of Karsai and his jirgas, Netanyahu and what he might know or not know, as Augustus might not have known the whereabouts of Ovid on any particular day and may not have cared.
I think of Hayward and what he must be thinking. Dreaming of silly tar balls, fish eyes glowing like tarnish in the brown, a poetic thought, maybe, a sunset, a single person standing against it watching the sun go down on the last beach of our time.
I think about my hands and how small they are and useless and how deep the sea is in places and how little I really know.
My wife, whose car I hear in the drive way, how this is a lonely sound.
And then the 45th second comes and the world crashes back, like a cat appearing suddenly and slipping across the hardwood and smacking against the door, only to right himself. Saunter off.
