Out in the dark tonight to close up the chicken coop. Paused for a moment on my busy way back to the house to take in the vision of the fireflies' lights hovering over the shadowed lawn. Promised myself I'd only stop for a moment, but then, in stillness, I saw how many of them there actually were - far more than I'd been able to glimpse while tromping along in my mind.
Stopped finally. Stopped after days, weeks of choosing to be pulled on by the leash of productivity and busyness. Sensed the curvature of the earth in the yard, awoke to the coolness of the breeze touching my skin. The leaves in the far trees rustled, rustled in the wind dancing through them, satisfying music after a long, dry spell of blocking out most ambient outdoor sounds. The apples behind me held silent in their patch of still air. The pullets in the coop pecked against the walls, a quiet, surreal tapping in the dark.
What a fantastic argument our minds are able to present: We are so important on this earth, it is so necessary to devote each second of our time to "getting things done," that we cannot allow ourselves even such a five-minute stillness.
A lark constellation hangs in the night sky, beating its wings as it lifts off the ground. Everything I love, this whole earth, is under the lark.
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