48° 25' N    123° 21' W

su·sur·rus \so͝oˈsərəs\ (noun); whispering, murmuring, or rustling.

in a small port town, i open the windows to let the old scotish sea shanties roll on in. somewhere nearby, bagpipes gurgle. you, the susurrus, are still moving inside me. i know that i will be back here, for these are the sounds from my ancestral home. the fiddler is plucking at my sinews and the piper is blowing everything i thought i knew about myself clean out of my lungs. i know i will be back here, and soon. it is here that my future will be rolled out like a carpet, will be laid parallel and bare, like an infinite and empty stave.