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There
is a rhythm to these
things
a
pace that cannot be
controlled
only
fought against in
vain
or
flowed into and
with
there
is a boat rocking on the
waves
listening
and responding to each
ripple
with
like motion of its
own
there
is a flapping of wings
stretched
out into the
air
riding
each wind
current
caressing
the sky that
envelopes
clutter
is all around
noisy
in its demand for
attention
loud
in its glaring, bright
glitter
filling
up our ears with clatter
obscuring
the quiet rumbling of
timelessness
with
its whining
urgency
so
the least important must be
heard out
first
and
in its
entirety
leaving
little time for that which
we
most need to
hear
and
to listen
to
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©
Shelley Harrison
www.shelleyharrison.com
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