It was the jeans that did it. It was the swish-swish slapping of my jeans at the calf that did it. They swish-swish swished as I walked alone through the cool morning, and the swish-swish swishing alone kept time in the overwhelming and beautiful stillness abounding. There was swishing and my breath slowly churning the hanging mist, and there was little else. Sure, there was the passing of cars and the tweet-tweet of birds hopping from branch to branch in nearby bushes, but mostly there was swishing and breathing; the swishing and breathing that for a few seconds slowed my careening pace through time and reminded me of the import of the slowness. It is in the slow stillness of a lonely quiet that the body submits to the authority of the mind. When the limbs cease their grasping at the next rung, it is then that the mind begins to reach. When there is nothing to say and no one to say it to, the mind finds its voice. And when the mind speaks, its whispered words in your inner ear will foster creativity, and your thoughts will be made pregnant and swollen with the potential of many new and beautiful things.
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