There is a moment in The Straight Story when Alvin Straight keeps driving his lawnmower after the scene has already settled.

The road should lead somewhere.
That is what it promises.

Movement should build.
Distance should start to mean something.

The road stretches.
The engine hums.

Something should happen.
It doesn’t.

A car passes.
This should change something.
A near miss.
Some kind of reaction.

Nothing.

The road absorbs it.

Something should begin.
An obstacle.
A turn.
A shift.

It doesn’t.

He tries again.
Stops.

This should turn.
Effort becomes consequence.

Something should happen.
It doesn’t.

The engine fails again.
No one arrives.
No signal is given.

The conversation ends where it began.

At the end, he reaches his brother.
They sit.

Something should happen.
It doesn’t.

They sit side by side.

This is where it should land.
A sentence.
A release.
Something that completes the distance.

They sit.
They look.

Nothing is resolved.

The road ends.

Something should happen.
It doesn’t.

While working on Rocks, I considered adding music.
Something to make it land.
Something to tell the viewer what this is.

I didn’t.

Something should happen.
It doesn’t.

Later, I pushed in the opposite direction.
A road that doesn’t give it.
Encounters that don’t build.

At Lima’s house, after the wallet is gone, nothing shifts.
She closes the gate.
She goes inside.

Someone asked why her face didn’t change.

I tried to adjust it.
It didn’t hold.

I keep waiting.