Friday, July 18, 2025, 66.7* 0626
Soleil, among the leaves splashes light in the pond. Exuberantly, Mariah plays with trees. Patterns Rhumba across the blinds. A lone Northern Parula blesses morning barely heard above Mariah’s cacophony.
The three sleep. I breathe deeply, think about lying on the ground. I watch clouds shift form becoming and becoming and becoming. If I take a sip of coffee, if I blink, in that moment, the moment I cease looking, all is rearranged. I’ve lost my place in the evolving. There are days clouds seem pasted in place, not interested in moving, not interested in changing, not interested in becoming; they are not accumulating, not getting larger, they sit, masters of the sky, just being.
Not every day calls for change, stillness allows knowledge to sift down through you.
Photo: LJ Austin
