stillness - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
It was the kind of day even a feather would fall without drifting one way or the other. The grass was straight and silent, the leaves dangled more as if they had been painted there. Should a person be able to feel the beating of the birds' wings - that would have been the only breeze. It was still, utterly still.
There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the grass or leaves. No clouds drifted in the sea of blue above. No water dripped or flowed. Not a sound could be heard either close at hand or in the far off distance. Even my own breath seemed to die as soon as it left my mouth. It was an eerie sort of tranquility, so instead of being soothed my senses became heightened. I felt like the prey even though no predator could be detected. It was as if the world were encased in a cocoon, a bubble, and there was no way out.
Often what we see outside becomes reflected inward - on the still day we feel more calm. For me the stillness of my soul comes best after much movement and exerted energy. Then I can rest like a dog who has had hours in the forest, my muscles all burnt out. Then I can sit, unwind my mind and let thoughts flow. That's how I like to be. Then the weather can do what it will; even in the greatest of storms I am still inside.
When the leaves fall in straight lines and the water is as a mirror, we simply say there is no weather. It is perfect for anything, unless kite flying is your thing. There are no clouds, no temperature extremes, just gentle sunshine for the people to bask in.
In your stillness you scare me. Perhaps it is the moonlight making your skin so pale, of the lack of wind letting every hair hang without movement, I'm not sure. You don't even blink, just keep your eyes on the lake as if it whispers secrets to you.
It was the kind of day that the flags fell to the poles and no matter the heat things felt somewhat stuffy inside and out. That was the start of August, the month where nothing moved unless it had to.
It was in that moment of absolute stillness that God tipped the balance to Mac. The wind died, the leaves ceased to rustle, even the rumble of traffic was absent. In those frozen seconds he could hear the crunch of dried twigs under boot, just enough to give him the location of his quarry. He swung around, pistol drawn, safety off.
It was only in the stillness of the late evening that he could hear his late wife calling his name. He would walk to the seafront and gaze out at the waves. The ocean moved and the wind blew, but to him everything had stopped. He no longer heard the traffic or noticed other walkers. To him they were as if in a photograph - two dimensional and static. In that extended moment his mind became at peace. She was not gone - just out of reach for now.