The day has faded into the dusk. Bit of drizzle has absolved the sweaty-sticky disgust of the summer.
The rubble in the backyard is moist and half burnt. The vent off smoke has scented the freshness around. Smells like childhood.
The crickets chirp. Through the haze, birds flutter. A half-read story from the past crosses my mind. I just smile and let it go.
Life's still. Nothing to look out for or to be bothered about. I just sit. Observe. Smell and feel the evening. Life in slow motion.
Something strikes me. An overrated couplet of Rumi. I can't help but relate to it. Maybe this is what he meant when he said about that place beyond right and wrong.
Then I hold on. Pass that thought and come back to blankness. To feel. To smell and to just breath away the moments.
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