CALM IN THE STORM
Soft light spills across the frame, drenching stone, the air almost whispering. Footsteps sound distant. Shadows lean long and cool. Earthy tones hold us still, as though drawing breath before speech.
Stay here. Let the noise soften.
Then something shifts.
INHALE
The storm seeps in. Hush, like when wind rises before thunder. It moves with you, invites you.
The contrast becomes gentle tension. Juxtaposed with shadow. Within motion.
Perhaps in your imagination—the scraping of shoes on pavement, the rustle of fabric, the distant drip of water. The world is alive.
The storm is here, but it does not murmur. It shouts.
Streets turning into mirrors, bending their light through water. Shadows deepen, pressing against the walls. The storm is heavy, and yet even in its hush there is calm.
Even storms pass.
Gradually, light returns. Breathing again.
EXHALE
The shadows pull back. Calm does not feel like absence. The colors, once burdened, peace in the gaps.
Possibility resides here.
In the end, the storm doesn’t overwhelm. It makes the calm luminous.
For those who watch, this offers rest. A chance to slow, to lean into calm, to notice.
For those who collaborate and partner — stories can be told with respect and feeling.
Imagining sharp sounds that lets you hear each drop, each whisper, each exhale. Voices of people whose stories echo inside the frame. Tunes carried on wind. Textures you can almost touch: the damp stone, the linen, the wood, the sky.
Storm is not just noise, but calmness in shadows.
If we listen, peace lives.
Calmly.
