I spent a lot of time by myself immediately after Miles died. I would take long walks in the woods, the autumn woods that turned from green to brown and orange and red very quickly as I remember it. I would sit in my apartment. I would look through books and journals and photo albums. I would ponder items. A shirt. A journal. A folder on the computer full of photographs. Negatives. Black and white pictures. A drawer full of pencils and undeveloped film. A bookshelf. I walked through Miles’s room and I filmed it, slowly panning across his bed and dresser and and desk where he had his computer. I panned the floor where he had stacked some papers. His backpack on the floor. His trumpet case and bedside table. I captured what it looked like hat day, that week after. I took in the world. I taught my self to sit quietly and clear my mind, eliminate myself. I taught myself the value of quiet time as a way to remember and as a way to forget. As a way to diminish myself in the world and lightens myself so that everything was lifted from me for a time.
Day 153: Quiet Time