QUIET

In the quiet is when I hear myself
The steady beat of my heart 
the echo crackling pulse in my ear
The questions my skin asks of me
like... 
When will you rub cream on me?
Why haven't you let me feel the wind today?
I hear the Sun calling to me 
Will you take your face to greet him?

The quiet doesn't sneak up on me
She doesn't really do anything overt
Or show any change in her weather
She is simply define by a lack of noise
By the clarity of the air 
The ripening  freshness 
As green returns to the once Wintered land

Quiet doesn't claim any particular season
There isn't one element or another 
That she aligns herself with
There is no vitriol to her presence
No pressing want of need given or asked for
She doesn't make any demands of any kind
She simply is.

When all the busy, all the over achieving
All the doing, the placating, the perfecting
the absoluting, the info gathering, and chatter
Stops 
Quiet arrives in her not-very-fancy attire
She's really quite naked,  vulnerable
Unimpressive might be what some think
As she seems small and lacking in personality
With nothing at all to say.  Not a word
Not a thought, emptiness, a void

That's when I know she's here
In the stillness, the silence
Sitting next to me, in me
Quiet is the most tender part
of my heart, a deep well of waiting
Every answer I ever needed to know
arrives in her eternal presence.

copyright.  jeanne adwani