Stillness
I plunge off the bus. It trundles on and I am immersed in stillness that rings loud like the whoosh and whir of water in your ears while holding a breath. Like water it starts to seep inside and I notice the sound of every leaf that touches another, the path of each passing insect, the whip and wisp of owl wings in the willows. In awe I wonder, who made this? As if someone must have done it. Stillness whispers back. This is not a gift to me. It is me, and I am it. The ways we are separate are of my own creation and volition. My clothes, bug spray, bear spray- they are barriers I want. But I don't want them. But I do. A storm sweeps toward me, its soft appearance from afar is a disguise for fury, I have seen the masquerade before (in me). I don't need to see it coming, I feel the air change, I smell it. I want a barrier. I fortify myself inside a rampart of raincoat and rain pants. I wait in the downpour, not wet. Separate. I