in franklin square

the crackle of autumn is on the ground. bone-chillingly damp, no one sits on this lawn any more. seagulls fend for themselves.

the fountain sings to itself- unhindered by small curious hands, unphotographed, it simply washes it’s steady rhythm behind the roar of traffic noise and bursts of conversation. it speaks quietly; wisely.

unheard by the babbling masses that tread pavement with ears closed. blind to the gold of the fallen leaves, deaf to the wisdom of running water. we catch buses. we buy things. we rush to work, to home, to everywhere, nowhere.

the fountain stays here, endlessly cycling water. leaves rot where they fall.

why do we fear stillness so? what is it about silence that terrifies us? so scared are we that we fill our ears with discordant noise, forever blocking out the quiet voices of water and wind. busy trying to fit more in, we miss so much.

let’s take a breath.
one long, slow breath, deep into our collective lungs, down into our consciousness. let’s take this
moment of stillness. silence.

let’s feel the weak sunlight trying to warm our muffled skin. let’s listen to the wind, suddenly loud in the absence of traffic noise and human conversation.
let’s look at each other.

yes, you. look at him. he too has a wisdom to share.
she, there, she also is a part of this wonder.

in the silence we may find not only birdsong and wet earth, not only this lifegiving sunlight and windwhisper.
we may see each other.

in franklin square

catmoore

Joined June 2008

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