This Mornings Meditation

Today brought a very silent morning. Everything outside wet from rain and lying beneath a grey ceiling of clouds that suggest I should stay inside for a while. There is one thing in particular which makes this hushed and washed morning different from the rest of them: there is absolutely no wind. The leafless branches and pine trees remain still from ground up and the dead leaves that rest amongst stray wrappers, and other trash, do not move in an inch along the lawn. I'd like to imagine that this is because, on very rare occasions, all things join together in grounded meditation, that all things have taken this morning to pray with one another in a tender silence. The stone tiles on the patio pray quietly for another warm and sunny day, and to feel our bare feet tip toe across their backs once again; the chairs thank the Universe that they're able to sit side by side with one another even though at time they grow bored with themselves; and I express my gratitude for a warm and wholesome shelter on days like today, and everyday. Although there is something very impulsive within me that wants to lay down in the middle of all this praise; lay down in the middle of the cold and damp grass to stare up and see absolutely nothing. I don't think I'll do so because I don't wish to disturb any one of these things that sit so peacefully out there. That peace should be sacred. In here you can only hear the arbitrary rumbles of the washing machine and the way their sound waves hover along the wood floor. All things completely still with the exception of my hands that are helping me transfer words, which fling themselves madly around my mind, onto a document where they too can sit still. I think it's only right that I stop moving now and join this meditation before it's too late.