Days are paler. Nights are calmer. Dramas are becoming rarer. Strangers appear as benign as long forgotten friends. Instead of being in the central locus I step aside.
Adrenalin rushes are making room for stillness as past and future are making room for the present. Present, a water droplet, captured in a quick shot, at the very moment of its detachment from the leaf edge. The action and inaction packed inside a quiet envelope. I could have tagged the envelope as boredom. But this is unlikely to be so as the blurred and gloomy are making room for clarity and peace. And “the real news inside here is there’s no news at all”.
“Outside, the freezing desert night.
This other night inside grows warm, kindling.
Let the landscape be covered with thorny crust.
We have a soft garden in here.
The continents blasted,
cities and little towns, everything
become a scorched, blackened ball.
The news we hear is full of grief for that future,
but the real news inside here
is there’s no news at all.”