In the distance, far ahead there stirs a silence so consuming that no butterflies dare attempt flight through it.
It sits like a fog overhanging trees, caressing mossy rocks, blanketing the rays of sun that fight to push through.
It stands there occupying space and time as if to declare.... tread no further until you've thought this through.
Pooh bears thinking spot would be more welcoming than this calm imposing quiet.
But there is no honey pot here.
In the distance ever reaching, parades the hope you haven't yet managed to duct tape so securely to your belt.
It dances like the grass skirt you'd never be brave enough to wear.
Sweet forced stillness evermore intense, evermore dense takes over all thinking
And you are left, swimming guideless across this ocean....
In the distance vastly present, seen without the prescription quite required for a typical clarity moment, a future reaches out and waits.
In the haze of your creation, all things become translucent and transcend.
When the leaves fall they'll take with them this chaos of unknown direction and shine the light on the path beneath.
Temporarily displaced, untethered and alone in land of in between, waiting.
In the distance, see me sitting, peacefully plotting... images of grandeur and all things blissfully possible.