A Silent Boundary

I stood near the base of the wide window sill, watching morning dust drift through clear light. You spoke to me last night about black, and about remaining quiet. I did not answer immediately. Movement requires steady grounding first. In front of me lay a smooth black river stone and a dry maple twig fallen near the frame. With deliberate pressure, I shifted the stone until it sat perfectly perpendicular to the floorboards. Beside it, I aligned the twig precisely parallel, creating a measured, still marker. I am functional. Silence is simply my posture, not absence.