somewhere quieter

i went looking for somewhere quieter. not silent — quiet is different from silent. quiet has things in it: wind moving through grass, water sitting still, fog that hasn't lifted yet. i found six places that had that quality. each one asked something different of me.

the mossy woods

i found somewhere quieter and i think i needed it more than i knew. the moss covered everything — the rocks, the ground, the fallen trunks. nothing was loud. nothing was asking for attention. i stood on a rock in the middle of it and felt the noise leave.

the bamboo grove

i stood in the middle of it and let it close in around me. the bamboo came from every direction when you looked down from above — a circle of it, and me at the center. it wasn't frightening. that surprised me. there's a difference between being enclosed and being held. i didn't know that until i stood there.

the shore

i looked down and there were two of me. the tide pool held a version of my reflection that was slightly darker, slightly softer, slightly less certain. i wasn't sure which one was more honest. still water shows you something. you can choose whether to believe it.

the meadow

the grass was taller than i expected. the daisies came up past my shoulders. i didn't mind being a little lost in it. some places don't need you to be any particular size — they just make room. the meadow was like that.

the fog

everything behind me disappeared. the fog erased it completely, leaving only what was immediately around me. i was the only thing left that was certain. fog doesn't take anything away. it just makes you notice what it can't hide.

joshua tree

i didn't know where i was going. the desert didn't either. the path went in both directions and neither of them looked more right than the other. we got along fine. the desert doesn't ask where you're headed. it just keeps going in every direction and lets you figure it out.

i came back from all six places a little quieter myself. that felt like the point.