Placidis Puella

I suppose I've always loved the tranquility of life far more than anything else it has had on offer. And maybe, just maybe it is a resigned acceptance of the accelerated pace of life even when nothing really changes. Perhaps it is melancholy better disguised in form and feeling. But as far back as I can remember, neither the adrenaline rush of days spent hectically nor the slow trajectories of lives around me have been quite as beautiful as tranquility. Both in its simplicity and complicity of our souls, it is a marvel to behold.

Tranquility. It is in the soft murmurs of the vagrant night, where evolution has yet not stripped dogs of their lupine memories. Their echoing howls mix in with the slight bass of the trucks that incessantly blow their horns on a near empty highway, bringing back memories and melodies in equal amounts. All of which is heavily sighed upon, while sitting upright, legs tucked under the chin - a pose of tranquil - that many before have assumed. Till of course, the eyelids burgeon with helplessness and sleep spreads it's own peaceful embrace over a lonely young 'un in her bed.

It is in the cantankerous winter mornings, where one might choose to spend a little more of their life under the soft warmth of a blanket and nothing more is desired than the ability to shift from the bed to the woolen caress of daily life. Yet, such mornings are undeniably peaceful especially when the home is rid of all other human presence, leaving one free to gaze soulfully at a patch of sunlight chosen by the pet dog to sunbathe in. Indeed, what is truly unhurried - such as the morning routines - is what is most precious as time runs past by.

It is in the unfurling haze of morning dew as the world wakes up and for a moment, we are all but nature's children who no longer have a connection with the material world. It is found in the suspension of all senses required to fully appreciate the work of Mr. Poe. Such tranquil moments are few and far in between, but nonetheless, they inspire for longer than reality does. And quite possibly, that is the sole point of difference between the dreamers and realists, for us dreamers search for the tranquil mind, over and over again.

Signing Out,
Resignedly beneath the sky,
The melancholy waters lie.