Old thoughts echo through the chambers of mind. Repeating yet fading into nothingness. Making way for the cool breeze and warm sun of spiritual knowing.
It is not to take up the clarion call of the vanishing echo, to once again fill up the caverns of noise.
But to sit patiently…. To the song of drip, drip, drip or splash and scuffle. Rustle and whistle of wind.
In that calm chaos, a voice gives rise to the timeless whisper of peace.