The trees have hardly moved all day except for in moments of softest wind. Royal green in the August light, they whispered.
For a while I was also still. I forgot about time on the hottest day all year, as simple as letting my skin grow warm. From toe to knee, warm. From navel to neck, warm. I closed my eyes and felt.
It scares me how the trees just stay. I am restless just looking at the green leaves hardly moving, and I know that I have much to learn about stillness-–how it's different than not moving.
The sun grows hotter, the shadows crawl. But then, the trees cannot fall backwards into the river, becoming suddenly cold.
