I would come here often. I would post obscene amounts of flower images. Because here it is silent but for that incessant inaudible white noise of unstoppable creativity. Of roots deepening, leaves broadening, petals thrusting themselves into the sky. Before my eyes on a day to day scale, what seems to be born suddenly, the labor of which is going on even as December shadows darken our days,is held and maintained for just so long and then destroyed. All a cycle of this life. A process happening always. Seen and unseen. Enough to make me sigh. Enough to shut me up. Enough to make me speak up.