Be still

I'm laying in bed, with the french doors open, a cool wind blowing in. The curtains are drawn back, letting the sun shine on my face as I catch pieces of conversations from the unseen people walking below. The fabric of the flags lining the balconies on both sides of the street pops and snaps as the wind has it's say in how they hang, move, fly. The plastic beads that are tangled in the wrought iron from past celebrations dance one bauble at a time in rapid succession across the surface of the railing before being lifted up as though the wind were telling them to hush, for a moment. Cars pass, dogs bark and I lay here, thinking of the present and of the future.