Motion.

[font=Times New Roman][font=Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Grande]The early morning sun cascades my eyes with bright warmth.
A soft petal floats down and brushes my cheek on its' way to the ground.
I do not move. I do not stir.
I simply lay,
Swaying on this rope net that somehow creates perfect peaceful moments,
For simply [i]sixteen dollars and forty-seven cents.[/i]
The wind gusts and leaves whirl,
Swirling in the path of the wind.
I close my eyes.
My mouth hangs open sucking in as much pure oxygen as my swelling lungs can hold before letting it all go,
A changed chemical, to feed our Mother.
My leg dangles off the side, keeping my motion steady as a soft melody begins to escape my lips,
My heart,
My head,
My soul.
The background fills with the twittering of sunrise conversation between Wren and ChiffChaff,
As each leaf brushes against another when the wind blows.
A melody.
A verse.
A chorus.
Another verse.
A bridge.
Chorus.
End.
And silence takes over for a moment.
And the only sound is the breath escaping my lips.
My eyes stay closed,
But I see all.
My arms do not move,
But I feel all.
Not a sound.
And the world is put back in motion.