That's not unusual; we talk to ourselves and hope the other is listening. We assume we've said something out loud that has never left our heads. The scary piece is when he answers my unspoken thought. Cue the theme from Jaws; it's scary like that.
But today, watching a spaghetti western, he wondered, to no one in particular, the following:
Why is it that big open spaces are paired with men of few words?Nick and Nora Charles's banter would be awkwardly out of place in Monument Valley, wouldn't it? In the city, there's a lot of stuff everywhere, stuff that is imported and created and purchased and stored, stuff that assaults your ears and your nose, that crowds your physical space to the point that, perhaps, you have to use your words to carve out a niche.
There is no niche carving in the scenery of the great oaters. Any dent in the terrain would be just that - a dent. Unnoticeable and unnoticed, insignificant, unworthy of interest when viewed from the expanses which surround it.
If you feel small, you can sing, letting your notes float. But words for the sake of words? To what end, I wonder? Dwarfed by the landscape, they, too, must have felt insignificant.
Or is it that those men moved out there where there was no one and nothing so that they would not be bothered?
Or that they had bad teeth?
Or that they had nothing to say?
Feel free to wonder along with us.... aloud or not.
While watching Endeavor last night, I asked, outloud, "why do these men say so little to one another?" I thought it is perhaps a British thing. They don't discuss their problems. My daughter always said, while growing up, that I talk things to death. She's right. I talk a lot. To myself and to others. Couldn't survive in those wide open spaces with no words.
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