Still as an Image

What’s beauty at random but a disembodied feather in a dead tree? Blown by wind and chance to end up here. I’m an anxious-hearted holistic human on my best days, buzzing by way of what occurs unexpected. This holds high value when my world pulls familiar, and new is not a common kind. Like the wise and wide-eyed owl, I see movement in the shadow with hunger on hold. I glide silent as a photograph, still as an image, weightless as a memory in a mind. If you spot me on the flightpath, the time to hide is already surely past. I’m always somewhat malleable to distance. Weeks will come when I barely leave my county, but restraint is never real when change is coming breathless. I’ll turn tail to discover that spring has finally peaked, and hopefully I haven’t.

May 8, 2026
Round Hill, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6753 of my daily journal.