The Silent and Still

I think I live for the silent and still —

The friends you made against your will.

The evening light,

The morning mist,

The impossible odds that you even exist.

I live for the trees being pruned and the fields being mowed,

The scent in the air just after it’s snowed.

The lilacs,

The lavender,

The marking of a calendar.

The family you forgot you had,

The odds and ends,

The goods and bads.

I live in the moments that began a millennia ago,

Tired town meetings,

The way the grass grows.

I live for board games and creaking floors,

The protest of an ancient door.

For a needle being pulled through old ripped seams,

Dust suspended in summer sunbeams.

The stagnant beauty of an old dirt road,

A line hung with soaking clothes.

The moment you lock eyes with a deer,

Before she runs off and disappears,

When it’s just you and this creature,

Alone and unknown.

The Silent and Still,

The homemade,

Handsewn.

Your mother’s garden,

Your favorite book,

The understated,

The overlooked.

The facts that you forgot you knew

And talk of what you’ll one day do.

I live for the silences you needn’t fill,

You just sit there,

Staying still.