The music finishes.
It is the quiet of night
Broken by the ticking of a clock,
the hiss of rain,
the growling of a distant car.
The silence of this interval
is not for doing,
not for resting
But to wonder in;
A vulnerable silence
given back to us.
Happiness is a butterfly which,
when pursued, is always
beyond our grasp, but which
if you sit down quietly,
may alight upon you.