Dear Curiosity Journal,

Pausing to notice the whimsical waltz of Purple Crown Vetch in the wind,

What imprint does this still moment make on the rough terrain within? 

Suspending my step to listen to the decrescendo of songbirds,

How does it soften my soil to wait for their auricular words? 

What hurry?

Why rush?

Cease the flurry.

Sense the hush. 

~Joy