At times, when the mind quietens, we feel not the peace of things but the noise we have stilled with the tasks and bothers of the everyday.
Some call it magic, in the air, but they are the ones who fall contently into the fortunate hashtag. For the common few who cannot have it true, the white noise of discontent scratches the mind, annoys the spirit.
There is fear, there is a deep dark mystery - one which begins as hardly such, but with the subtle push and nudges of our ever-yearning, transgressed into a twisted hope.
And it is signaled, by a factor most arrogantly ironic, often through the very sweet tones we hear through our ears.