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There was silence
clinging to the twilight
when the sky was recently
purged of rain and
the dirt road that
twisted reverently around
the rampant jungle
smelled of life.
The truck negotiated
the surface of the calm,
lulling our voices
into whispers punctuated by
the tires’ rhythmic
crunching of gravel and
sloshing through puddles.
Your hand rested on my knee
as moths of sleep came
to rest their paper wings
on our eyelids,
hours of travel
tugging at our limbs.
That silence was our
second nature, I think
was the moral
of the story,
the kind that peace
is made of, and is,
in turn, a mosaic
of sounds like the deep
rumbling of a river
fed by the heavens and
two hearts beating
side by side, half
admiring the journey’s view,
half waiting patiently
to arrive.

“Bohol, Philippines” by photographer Katrina David


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