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,
Here.
©Julia Stolk