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  • Writer's pictureAja Lee Faassè

The Great Stillness.

Updated: Apr 11, 2020

I was walking along the streets where bird songs floated from every possible angle, as I curiously approached each little house and each little yard under the still afternoon sky, I felt the same curiosity of when I would walk lonely streets in Europe, maybe a sound echoing from far away, but right here right now in this place, it was just me. I noticed the quiet of no cars and the giant old trees that had remained beyond so much change, I remembered when I was little riding on my lavender huffy bicycle thru old Midwestern neighborhoods, so still, so neat and so interesting in their quietness.

The chatter of a little one in a stroller, a hush of a breeze, thump of a single door shutting from far away, then again nothing, stillness. My own feet so audible I walked softer, my thoughts meandering without the stimulus of somewhere to be something to do. How can I transport myself to this feeling when I need it? How can I pretend this is vacation for a few moments.

Will I miss this? Will I even remember?

A blanket of caring thoughts surrounds the neighborhood, are you ok? Did he need anything, was she getting better? The walls had come down, entering week four of the stillness, conversations shifting daily, slowly, towards the acceptance of not knowing.

I glance out the windows longingly, even though I can go out there, it feels different from inside my little box of thoughts, my gaze is long, dreaming of a feeling of an unknown future, but then I remember, I never really knew the future did I?

The beautiful sand so smooth with no footsteps for miles and miles, the entire coast brought back to how it must have looked when it was discovered, no people, the critters and birds have all come out, scampering around, adjusting so quickly, hatching fledglings, enjoying the rain, instantly feeling the expanse of space that we are no longer using every day.

The caterpillars keep chewing, the bees keep tirelessly foraging for fluffy nectar so sweet and heavy they can barely fly off in a straight line carrying their little purses of pollen, all covered in yellow fluff.

Little things of nature crunch under my feet when I walk, I notice how I could never notice that before.

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