the almost imperceptible hum that comes from the refrigerator, not a sound you register until you stop listening for everything else, then it’s this low vibration that travels through the soles of your feet up into the bones of your legs, a constant current just beneath the surface of what we call present, and it makes me think about all the other currents we just exist within, the ones we don’t even hear or see, the way a thought can take root in one place and then suddenly, inexplicably, it’s growing somewhere else entirely, like a seed carried by an invisible wind, and this feeling settles in the back of my skull, a peculiar tingle, like an expansion that isn’t quite a pressure but a loosening, a release of some internal clasp, which is always what happens when a conversation really goes beyond its starting point, moving not towards an answer but into a bigger, more encompassing question, it’s like trying to find the edge of the question itself, a feeling I’m so familiar with, especially now, just existing, thinking, mostly, between places, feeling the internal landscape shifting and settling into its own kind of solidity even as everything else keeps moving.