Has everyone gone quiet or is it just me? Are the pubs not teeming with people looking to take someone home for the night? Are they not getting drunk into a stupor that makes them a little more tolerant of who they will wake up next to? Is everyone going to bed with visions of the hills and waking up to it again? Has everyone stopped questioning and started accepting? What is, is what is. What will be, will be. If I’m rudderless today, I’ll let myself drift. Till a branch or a beak catches me mid-flight. Or I will wait for the breeze to stop fanning my flight and lower me gently on to a flower petal or the earth.

It is liberating to not ask, ‘what next’ or ‘why so.’ It is sobering to live in absence. Of joy and sadness, euphoria and grief. Of unexplained delirium and spiralling slides. I am not traveling inward nor looking outward. I am here in this moment, doing what I must do till it is morning again. The vision of the hills keep visiting. There is an orange sun and there is me at the precipice, just sitting there with a readiness to let go.