Moving into an Airstream has turned down the urban noise level. The active silence is like a reprieve. It's like going from life in a sandstorm to the sudden serenity of Walden.
This place is really quiet... I've never been in an actual trailer-park before, and I guess this is quite expensive, as these artificial places go. All these really expensive trailers are sitting around with almost no one around. It's practically the Twilight Zone. I guess there are movie people and regular people, people commuting to work in the city, and a section of transients. We are the transients- here for a while, checking out the scene, but adventures call and we'll soon be off forth on wing. We will not be doing RV parks though- it's provincial and national parks we're destined for!
Sudden silence. This is a powerful thing we're tapping into. My dreams lately have been potent, earthy things, half-scaring me as old characters loom out from darkness to remind me where I've been, and from what people and times I'm sprung. I hold a familiar antique camera up, and look deep into the eyes of one who's passed on. The dead are alive, and I'm... actively listening. This strange root moving into my mind's dark corners could only have found sustenance in such quiet.
All this quiet is juxtaposed against a flurry of last-minute activity, so when the last-minute appointments, truck repairs, and storage solutions are finally over, I can only wait to learn what happens as this new quiet deepens.
Hark- I think I hear a horse-shoe pit.
