| Quiet |
[Jan. 30th, 2005|07:52 pm]
rejectomorph
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The day, being Sunday, was filled with long pauses. Passersby strolled the quiet streets, walking dogs who sniffed those bemused plants which have bloomed early. The white fluff of drifting clouds perpetually drew the eye into repose. Birds decorated the lawns, enjoying leisurely picnics, being moved now and then to emit songs that evoked more sense of May than of January. Napping cats draped themselves on porch rails and sun-warmed steps, waking only to yawn and gaze briefly at the placid afternoon scene, then return to their dreams. The day demanded nothing, but passed with no more disturbance than would a browsing deer, desiring not to be noticed. Even the sunset was barely a blush, and a slow fading, until night had absorbed the serenity. No more than a sigh of breeze now stirs the air, and the pines are utterly silent. I watch the stars emerge, and wonder when the world will wake from this dream. |
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