In a meditative, state…translated…
The roughened grains of the muddied light, filled up the cracks on the papers, spread between the eyes and the words, kind, quiet, and in waiting, the depth of the papers, became touched by the ballpoint of the pens, hot or cold, with the precise details, and the roughened bigger pictures, exchanging the thoughts.
Closer to the texture of the paper, to find that affinity, the brushstrokes were freed, to paint something out like the cat, with the, fluidity of the strokes.
On the table of the spare room, the muddied light combined the shadows, the muddied light on the edges, leapt onto the white pages, with the grains of the papers, sometimes, rough, sometimes, smooth, like the cat;
On the table of the spare room, the muddied light imprinted into the sketches, the muddied light, like a bow strung, leapt onto the pages, with the grains of light on the paper, barely, visible, with that, light scent of sorrow, like a foolish, living creatures;
On the diagonal of the papers, the beams of the hallway, with that grayish pink, and the teas in meditation, inside the security guard’s room, a book of writing pages, a man…………seemingly, more than, isolated and lonely, that ancient pond, thump! The frog leapt in, the pages of the paper, broke in sound.
And so, this, is the stillness of the world around you, with nothing but nature happening, and you’d, listened, and felt that sense of peace from inside your mind, that nobody and nothing can, take away!