Approached by the furthest uneven yesterday, where tumult and cataclysm
erode from a mountainous sky, we looked up to see a smouldering meteor the
size of 42 houses come crashing to the earth, throwing up dust and
evaporating rocks for miles around. The ground quaked and heaved and
trembled a frightened gasping hush.

And then there was The Quiet.

Nothing would dare move. No one could call out. Even at the heat of the
day, cosmic dust trails filled the off-green sky blocking heat and light.
Between people who were closest, word became thought. Stunned into present
time, alert and aware, there were no "what ifs" or even "what nows".
Routine was forever changed again. Everything became significant.
Distracted from commerce, numbers and logic, life itself took on new
meanings, calling with a wild new sensuousness. Nerves were raw, imploded,
frayed and exposed, yet also strangely soothed. Everything that was only a
short while ago deemed impossible now seemed likely. Every anxiety and
inevitability seemed distant, now nearly imaginary.

Awakened by the highest molecular call, something juicy began again flowing
and flooding, streaming and surging in that moment when collective vision
gasps and pauses in stupefied horror, breathes deeply in and waits, and
begins again on the outbreath, mechanism reset; conscious and altogether
aware in some sort of celestial unison never to be less vigilant again.