Quiet Stillness.

Quiet stillness. Quietness, lack of sound; stillness, lack of movement…except for gentle, nearly imperceptible ones compelled into trysts with the wind by mother nature: a slight flip of a coattail, ripple in a hat brim, or drift of a wisp of hair. A reconciling gaze grappling with the presence of the familiar in the foreign. A cagey smile guarding the self from what could be, settling for what is. This fleeting moment, its seeming lack of tonality, is not an empty one. It emanates tones of adventure, complexity, beauty, and simplicity. It absorbs me.

It’s like my mind has passed through a mystical monochromatic gateway to the hills of Yorkshire and I am standing right next to her. What do I do? Romance came to mind, but only after my initial thought which was…wait for it. Offer her a hot dog. Why? Why am I like this? ‘Hi Anne, um, would you like a hot dog?’ First of all, I have no hot dogs to offer, and even if I did, how on earth would my mind alone carry it through a monochrome gateway? Unless there are hot dog check stations, like a checked bag station in an airport? Even so, it’s a terrible idea, I know. Anyway, what would you do?