Still

When night sets in place, the crickets are inspired to song by the darkness. When the frogs and all other nightly creatures find their niche, they gladly offer their part in this symphony. When the stars hang over us, twinking with laughter over my comic misery, the willow leaves are dancing somberly in the passing wind. So why is it that I, a human, am the only one who is still?

I huddle and exclude myself from these subtle activities. It is then, when my sorrow spirals into infinity, that I know the answer.

There is a creepy stillness before a hurricane, a stillness that brings out a tingling of fear developed over the past hundred thousand years.

still light, morning light
rainy-day-through-the-clouds sun
curtain shower, grass grows greener
and you're still not around

I'm still. Absolutely still, I don't breath, I don't move, I don't blink, I just stare at that little moth whose life depends to a great extent on my mood. It's scary how a mind can think about so many different things at the speed of light, while the body can be in complete stillness.

»You shall not kill«, how about a moth, why wouldn't i kill it, why would i? Is it going to affect in any way the universe if a moth stops living? I'm still thinking. I'm still, absolutely still...

And it seemed like all creation was holding its breath in that moment.