Where does your mind go, when everything is still? Underneath a warm sun, in the absence of winds that swirl and circle back and forth then around again…like thoughts which keep you nervously driven to carry on? Mine go searching for the meaning of now and all the times I have ever experienced—and I feel weary. I want to move, yet there is nothing in particular calling my name. I want to feel, but fight against that treacherous tide, knowing a day like today could pull me too far underneath the surface. I work and I rest, however in both endeavors, vow to keep myself occupied. But in the steady slowness of these occupations, I, like these hours, stay still. Stillness is what is.