The nothingness.

Sometimes you can just tell.

You look at your kids (or your pets, or your main squeeze) and you just know. You know that it’s time for some nothingness.

Our latest nothingness took on us a quiet walk to the end of the road.

Then we turned right.

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It was perfect. Just enough breeze to hug you with warmth and just enough quiet to hear everything. The everything that you can only hear in the nothingness.

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It’s here that the leaves rustle. The birds sing. The bugs create a cacophony of highs and lows in an incredible chorus that the greatest symphony could not rival.

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And you breathe.

You laugh.

You start with a giggle that goes into a good belly laugh that feels nothing short of perfect.

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And that sound is right at home here, in the nothingness. It’s a sound it’s been longing to hear, and it makes it complete.

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There is discovery here.

And contemplation.

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Then there’s the primordial rhythm of it all. The point where your heartbeat mimics and echoes back your footsteps into hidden paths nestled deep within brush and new trees and what ifs.

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I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about.

.Oscar Wilde.