Cadence

I do not want to be part of the world outside my window. With the people swarming like flies, chittering to one another, purses plastered to shoulders and workout clothes exposing body parts that should be kept for home. I don’t want to be part of the blur of cars pushing through, sound of exhaust and motor always moving. Or dogs barking, their throats in constant use just to alert their owners of another being existing down the street. I don’t want the high-pitched peal of laughter for an alarm clock, or waiting five minutes to cross the great divide of the street.

Instead, give me the sleeping pine trees, slowly waking in a warm bath of sun. Or the wind, trailing its fingers across the tufts of grass and wrinkle of leaves. Give me long grass, peonies with their tight fisted balls blooming when, and only when, they choose to be ready. Give me the glass top of the lake, the diamonds cast across its surface, the deep, vast, cerulean and teal waters. The slow pace, the light jacket of nature that fits perfectly around my shoulders. Give me space to breathe, to be, to let my heart rise and be gentle to itself.

Concrete jungles with their robotic inhabitants do nothing for me. I am not made to be boxed in by buildings and hurry. Throw my soul wide open and get me far away, to the edge of myself, to the edge of the world, and be hidden in the brush, the sloping dunes, the sherbet sky tumbling against the horizon, the warblers and loons to soothe me asleep. This is my cadence: the one that’s set by shooting stars.

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