Did you ever notice that wondering and wandering are only a letter apart?

I write in silence, lest the words of others cloud my own.

I write when inspired, and I will try not to let myself cloud my creativity with thoughts of doubt or distraction.

I write by pen, so I am not confined by a desk and office. So I may look outside, beyond the old fashioned white windows that in my childhood would have inspired hours of imaginings of fairy tales and lack luster stories reminiscent of "A little princess" locked up in her isolated room.

Beyond the window there is moss on the shed roof, and bare trees that on this gray day, don't stretch upwards to reach for the sun, but rather look as if they are tired. Though these thoughts are contradicted by the small green buds sprouting from the limbs, quieting whispering that the life cycle cycles on, and these weary trees will spring up and blossum and throw themselves into another year's new season of spring and awakening with all the same ferver as before.

And from here I can see the houses and I wonder about the families inside them, and I wonder if they wonder about me. And of all the wonderings in this world, how many people sit within the confines of the same city, same building, same room, and never know that they crave the same answers or just to continue to ponder the same ideas, for sometimes it is the wondering itself that is most fulfilling, rather than the answers to the ideas you wonder about.

If only a person had it in them to ask. It is the habit of humanity to choose to believe they are all alone in the world with no other being who feels or things or wonders the same things or craves in the same ways or ponders the same concept.
It is our habit to set outselves apart from one another; set ourselves upon a pedestal high above the reach of others and pity ourselves the solitude as isolation.

Did you ever wonder what everyone else is wondering?