Free space

In the moments between the moments that we remember, when our eyes are cast to the sky and not set to purpose, we find a little of that peace and free will that was promised to us but that we often forget we have. The drawings scrawled across the clouds with our fingertips we leave dangling in the air, and seek instead letters stricken in stone, ground with steel and fire into the permanency of memories not our own. The free will we leave behind. In the moments of indecision, the brackets of blue sky between buildings, in the distance from thought to thought. Before the point of the spear, the quivering of its shaft, the arch of the arm or the release of strength: in the sterile stillness of free space where the violence of purpose is born.