Cling and Clatter

It was quiet there.

So quiet, you could hear people approaching before you could see them.

You could hear the wind blow.

I swear I heard the sun dipping into the horizon.

This is why we go.

Because the white noise is wiped out. The volume of the urban city is turned off.

We are deafened by the silence.

I fell asleep on the front porch, feet propped up, letting the sun bathe my face and my legs.

Time didn't matter.

There wasn't a clock to be found in the cabin.

We woke with the sun and wound down as it set.

We ate when we were hungry.

No rushing.

Just skin.

And sweat.

Mud and grass.

We walked away with dirt on our hands and fresh bruises.

Lying by the fire the first night, no fluorescent lights drowning the stars, I watched as one shot across the sky.

And I was reminded of how all the stars are numbered.

I like to think they each have a name.

Time was standing still.

The hands of watches were rotating and no one noticed.

Our attention was captivated by the licking flames and falling stars, by roasting the perfect marshmallow, listening to howling coyotes.

Yesterday, my life returned to punching the clock and measuring days by hours and schedules.

And I want to return to the cabin.

Away from all the cling and clatter.

Listen to Ian's sunrise song.

Still, somewhere in this city, I believe I will find my peace.

Somewhere, is my hope.

My self. Carried on the wind.

I must whisper to be heard.

Stand perfectly still to be seen.

And when the chaotic world sends me spinning...

I will spread my arms wide.

Let my face lift towards the sky.

I know...

This too shall be made right.