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.
It's hard to let go anything we love. We live in a world which teaches us to clutch. But when we clutch we're left with a fistful of ashes.