Slow.

Wait.
Wait for the sunbeam to move.
Wait for the next mote of dust to settle.
Wait for the hair to grow that next half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-half-inch.
(Or at least the stubble.)
Wait.
Wait for the cushion in the seat to be pushed that further irreversible micro-meter towards flatness.
Wait for the morning food and drink to work their way into and through the body, reaching either your energy reserves or your toilet.
Wait.
Wait for what's next.
Wait for time to slow down enough that, yes, you would hear that sunbeam make a sound.

-- "Slow," by Christopher Walsh, 10/15/13

© Christopher Walsh, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Slow.

Meat-Ghost

Be a gentle giant

I CAN WRUTE. WRITE, I MEAN. WRITE. (Damn you, misspelling.)

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