What Still?

Today is still. A time to draw a memory, fill your head, tire your eyes, work your body sore or do something. Still time for anything intense.

Still shapes a room. In a controlling atmosphere, it’s the repression of creativity, the anticipation of criticism. Stillness is the closing of doors with a glaring face.

Under stress, it’s the foot that stomps the buds of insight. Under exposure, it’s the light over which flowers and weeds root.

Still night gives shovels to dig, and keep digging the roots to a childhood you can’t remember. Hard labour or drink tea.

When year’s pass, still is a time where expression can run or stand like water to nourish or drown a former growth. Tea has a softer taste.

Under surface frost, still imagination, the vision and memories of flowers that’ve come and will be. The thought’s of persistent weeds waiting to re-sprout. Today is a question and answer the same thought. More still.