It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
It’s the shadow across broad daylight, revealed in radiant rays of newness
It’s the stillness of the pond on a windy day and what lies beneath.
It’s the calm skies ahead of a mighty mammoth of a storm.
It’s the drumming of Earth’s heart, rattling along lines far below the surface.
It’s the invisible rays passing from great solar storms passing through unknown to all.
It’s the grit under tyres and the silt beneath that spins the wheels above to new angles.
It’s the push of the wind against the flow of traffic slowing down the morning commute.
It’s sounds unheard yet given to the air, triggering an avalanche of unlocked actions.
It’s the soliloquy spoken softly to an absent audience ahead of silent auditions.
It’s an array of unseen variables that tangle hairs and twist cotton threads.
It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
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