At times, I prefer to move rather slowly, regarding, with great care, all of the sounds that accompany my world. The sound of a key entering the keyhole of a door and clicking the deadbolt to locked is one that provokes a sense of finality. And my insides lurch with small dread at the cry of sirens from any first responder vehicle. Loud, raspy laughter breaking through the numbing white hiss of passing traffic force my lips into a smile.
At times, I prefer to move rather slowly, training my mind to stay; linking thoughts to sound to physical sensation. I feel warming in my tummy at the sound of that very particular gulp only heard when pouring coffee from a full pot into my rounded mug. The whiz of the wind rustling through my thick, curly hair, and across the thinner skin covering my ears, fills me with delightful tingling liberation. There is nothing else in that moment, or that moment, or that moment but the sound and me.
At times, I prefer to move rather slowly so that I can be.
Written for: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/slowly/