Be still

Be still. Be still, as we are still. I climbed the steps beneath the shady trees. A stillness defined only by what disturbs it.
A noisy flapping, clacking sound. I draw near, peek round the corner. Nothing but a pair of pigeons.
Climb on.
An aeroplane high above; its roar so distant yet so clear. Pure, focused. A sound distinct, uncluttered.
The top; an open street. Bright green grass. Silence intense. My soft flat shoes thundered noisily like a cat on a drum; limp cotton skirt rattling round my knees.
The blue oozed into my pores.
Around the corner the fragrance of fresh sawn wood assailed me. A moment forever mine.

Have you listened to what the stillness says to you?
Have you made today your own?


About Rosalie Squires

'Who am I?' is a question whose answer keeps evolving, that can be answered in many, many ways; that has no known answer at all. But there are some clues to be found: stocksharpsquires.wordpress.
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