IT WAS NOTICEABLE
The stillness was so noticeable. There wasn’t a hint of breath, nor did a branch move.
My mind looked on in wonder as the thoughts darted in and out, moving effortlessly and raging to a screaming crescendo echoed by the piercing stream of internal sound accompanied by the one that was real.
It was noticeable. The dichotomy of the scene before me, the one I could see with my eyes but not quite reach with my soul, and the one that has been a constant companion, stitched to my side, unable to break free and handcuffed to my spirit.
It was noticeable. All I ever wanted was to feel the peace and tranquility, live in the place of trust and truth, and not let any other sound, real or manufactured, break the blessed reverie of the scene placed before my eyes, the scene I had seen before, the place I remembered, the place I loved, the place I felt safe, and the place I felt love.
It was noticeable.
The sound got louder.
And it was noticeable.