When I get time to walk, it's usually night. And it gets really quiet, except for me and the dog. So i end up singing the few songs I know, and reciting the poems I've learned. Not loudly, though I have before when the winds came, but just enough that my words resonate in the air, a little. For anyone that might be listening; it's quiet out, at night.

I'm not sure I identify at all with this anymore, but I suppose I would have before...interesting to consider, either way...
"It had never been a man who would keep her here...It was being rooted in the land. It was the fear that her strength came from the physical presence of place and house and people, and separated from them she would become pale and transparent. An unperson."