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Stillness arrives,

Moving through.

This connection to nature,

A young flower,

Newly opened.

Feeling breeze’s soft offerings,

To be moved.

As opposed to finding movement,

Where there is none.

The beauty of this allowance.

Where I will blow

How I will bend,

And be bent.

Kissed by the wings of a bee,

Whispered to by the hummingbirds’ flight.

To be awakened by the sun,

And fall into sleep as the moon sets.

There is no doing.

Only being done.

A letting go,

An invitation.

To soften.

To surrender.

To become still.

To arrive,

To this moment.

Nothing moves.

Right here.

Right now.

Still –

Unless the wind blows,

Or the bee kisses,

Or the hummingbird whispers.

A petal flutters,

Being moved.

Still arriving,

It lands,


©Julia Stolk

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