Balance

The days have alternated between sharp rain and short sun. Grey clouds occasionally pierced by a watery light.

I stay still and quiet. Inflicting, watching another's pain without giving comfort is a terrible thing to do. How not to reach out, not to pull back? Stretched tight as a cramped muscle in a vice of neutrality. Just watching. Being. Steadfast.

In afternoon sunlight I sat cross-legged on the sear grass of a hill in the park. The wind beat a surf-roar from the trees and flung clouds across the sky. There was a lift, as though I too could be whisked and whirled through the blue without let or hindrance.