His quiet days were feathers without hurry, moving this way and that in the air, happy to change direction according to the wind. Just as the feather will in its own sweet time be at rest upon the earth, so the sun will rise and set high in the sky. Yet in each gifted moment between them, there was such freedom, an infinitely branching path with no paths at all. And in that complete liberty there was a need for the calm kind of patience, the one that is content to await the path to glow, to show itself worthy of adventure, of curiosity, of enchantment.The sunrise meant so many things as it drifted in, igniting the colours of his room. The light was the greatest artist in history, creating beauty on the canvas beyond this window pane. It shone a path to his thoughts, and, as his mind wanders to them, he feel my eyes smile and a rising coziness in his core. Along the way, these new rays will reveal silken webs and grass wands of many hues, the rich browns of oak arms, the silver-cream
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