quiethum
Forest, river, diving in and water surrounding you, rushing into your ears, surrounding your senses, taking over and washing out everything, flooding out all sensation but the cold, lapping water against your skin, flooding your ears, your pores...like hearing the rain outside the window, drowning out any thought. Like when you plug your fingers in your ears and all you can hear is the blood rushing. Hearing the ocean in a shell is just this...solitude.
I was playing with the Bobby pin, twirling it idly in my fingers as I sat on the rough carpet, my seven year old brain running in the random, secret directions that a Childs brain does. For no reason, I was struck with the impulse to stick the pin into a nearby outlet. As I tentatively poked it into the hole, into that outlet that always reminded me so much of a small, surprised face, I was hit with a small jolt of electricity, and all thought was driven from my mind at the shock of the sudden sensation.
nothing, no and no one. what do you say about nothing? clean, white, awaiting new surprises.
sand, skies, the tide i wrote about just a couple of days ago. seagulls staring out over the ocean blankly, looking as though they are contemplating the meaning of it all. warmth.
The tide lapped gently against her feet, cold pools forming in the sandy crevices surrounding her ankles. She listened to the slow, subtle crash and felt the quiet engulf her.