Alone in a quiet house.
The solitude breached by the whisper of air flowing in from an open door.
The hum of a fridge working diligently.
A dog barking in the distance.
A cat rolling in the dirt outside; soaking in the joy of freedom.
Another cat hopping the wall to an unknown adventure.
A jet shuttling worker bees and skinned knees.
A moving world, breathing, rolling like ocean waves.
A commotion. A living breathing giant. A monster of joy, toil, serenity, fear, anger, sorrow and depth.
Watching the world.
Not a part of it.
Not acknowledged by it.
The duplicitousness of wanting and not wanting.
A bystander on a hilltop.
The ripples reach me.
But mine, they always stop short.