Are You Talking To Me

TALKING TO ME Do you ever get the feeling that inanimate objects are talking to you? Sometimes I do, not often, but sometimes. Like trees that seem to be murmuring in an unknown language somehow suggesting a meaning to me. And clouds when billowed tell me of some distant place I haven't visited. They display portly faces that look strangely familiar and seem to mouth broken words. Once I heard running water in a stream ripple in nomadic sounds, it told me the secrets of how to go with the flow. Flowers often, when in full bloom gossip and say "look at me, aren't I beautiful?" But when dying cry out say "I was younger then, but now I'm old and frail!" It seems when picking out socks to wear, I imagine them vying for my attention. Pick me.. no pick me. And when I do, feel a little guilty that I didn't pick the other. Once I took out and put back pliers from my tool holder on the wall. One cried out to me saying that I shouldn't put it so close to the other one (considered far inferior). And of course, the screwdrivers made it known that Phillips do not belong with Flatheads. Should it be, do I have to endure these insults to my sensibilities? As I said, sometimes.