In this still small place at my desk
the beating of my heart is regular, steady and reassuring, faint over the slow regular turn of my fireplace.
Gentle sounds of the smooth scrape of my ring as I pull my journal across the desk ~ a slide of leather against leather,
my pen smoothly dents the ivory page in bouts as long as the shape of a letter or word as my hand slides in whispers across the page.
The low dull purr of a heavy truck gathering leaves from cluttered gutters and sidewalks, muffled slam of a door from the house across the alley, intrudes on the stillness.
The scree of a lone gull penetrates this soft, quiet blanket disappearing as quickly as it came.
Stillness is not dark, but filled with soft light that supports and carries me into a later world of bright lights and busyness.
Entering this stillness feels like the inside of a quiet country sanctuary in summer when air is warm and light filters through stained glass windows.
The darkness surrounding me has lifted.
“Learning how to be still, to really be still and let
life happen ~ that stillness becomes a radiance.”
~ Morgan Freeman
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