Speaking without being present

I am sitting in my car with the window open, fields and trees surround me, I am reading a book. At a high sharp melodious sound I raise my head and spy an unknown bird perched in a little bush singing. The phrase ‘it’s dulcet tone’ immediately presents itself to my consciousness, a turgid cliché, why do old saws like this spring readily to mind?

As a fully formed phraselet it requires no effort, as though it is passed up through the levels of consciousness from some copious storage area, wrapped-up, unviewed and thus somehow achieving a weightlessness which needs no putting forth of mental vitality or expenditure of thought to bring to light.

And so perhaps in these forms of articulation I am almost absent or like some lazy customs official waving through unchecked freight.