rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Being Quiet

I could compare the night sky to something- perhaps to a translucent map of islands and continents adrift in a cerulean sea- but, in fact, it looks like exactly what it is- a partly cloudy sky lit by a brilliant moon that is nearly full. Tonight, I have no desire for the fancies or conceits of metaphor... except for the one I just used about metaphor being fancies or conceits, of course. Tonight, I like things just as they are. I like the dark pine trees being pine trees, and their silhouetted branches being branches, full of clustered, pointy needles that are just discernable in the bright light. I like the shadows of the bare mulberry branches being simply shadows, which darken patches of ordinary damp lawn from which rises the commonplace scent of earth and grass. I especially like the owl hoot I hear being no more than the call of an earthly bird, out seeking a meal. Everything is exactly right the way it is, unembellished by sparkly words. The quiet of the land is only enhanced by my own silence. I'm going to be as quiet as my cat is when she stalks her small, gray prey,

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