Said good morning out loud to the only other person on the river trail this morning.
He will see me. I will see him.
But he already sees me.
What does it mean to be heard?
How will it be received? Do I whisper it? Do I keep it in my head?
Do I act as though I am saying good morning to someone else? No one else is here.
A good morning follows in return. With an upward lilt at the end of the words and a quick turn of the body for a face-to-face greeting.
How are you this morning?
Very well thank you.
Anything biting this morning? He is sitting on the edge of a pier with a line out in the very low waters of the Grand River.
Nothing yet. I see them jumping up by the bridge. But I can’t cast that far! He laughs. Pointing to a bridge at least 100 yards away.
Smiles. A clear invitation for more conversation.
But my feet had never stopped walking. Twenty yards away was my signal our time together was done. That I was done sharing.
Had I really had enough? Had I had enough of this person that I didn’t know? Had I had enough of myself? Of that much giving and being seen?
I sounded my voice. I let it out of my head. But how big could I let my voice be? How big am I willing to let it be?
Observing this exchange. Seeing the openings and the obstructions to expression and vulnerability of voicing.
Do I fear what will come out of my voice, of my expression?
Or do I fear what will come back in return?