The grass beneath me is a velvet bed. Sky high flies buzz unseen. It seems the protection we hoped would be ours in this sanctuary has already turned bad. Telepathy, once a tool of transcendence, has become a silent assassin. My thoughts are not my own. The connection to others is not one I can control.
I close my eyes to the brilliance and concentrate my thoughts on the toll of the distant bell, adjusting my haunches, aligning myself to the sound. I can feel it reverberate, vibrating through the earth, the air, my skin. I am the bell and the bell is me; we are one. The rich sounds cocoon me; I am a butterfly in transition.
My thoughts become muddled, a muted mayhem, a tortured tangle that jangles. The peace I felt just a moment before flown away like a bird. Closed eyes make you blind and yet I can see some things more clearly. There is a might of manipulation in their movement to maintain civility when the motivation is to control our next move.
I sit up, startled by the harsh ‘caw’ of a magpie and stare off into the trees. Evening will soon be here.
