The air is tinged with the scent of dead leaves. Leaves which lie orange and red and brown as far as I can see. The air is cold, causing my breath to come out in small puffs of smoke, like a dragon breathing small clouds. The sky is bright with the pale light from the recently risen sun. Dawn.
The world is quiet. No footsteps. No voices. No engines. No planes. No helicopters.
No birdsong. No leaves rustling. No scurrying of small animals.
It feels like I'm being bathed in peace, the silence comforting me, reassuring me that there is no danger close by. I am safe in this quiet part of the world where the birds silently hop around in the trees, the leaves lie still on the floor, and the trees stretch upwards towards a sky riddled with fluffy, twisting pink clouds, contrasting to the pale blue of the background.
Pain in my shoulders as I roll over to face the sky sends a sharp ache of pain through my back and neck, the muscles fighting to do as I ask. As a small black bird flits across my vision soundlessly, I lie with the leaves, aware of the crinkled skeletons tangled up in my hair, inside my clothes, on top of my boots. Allowing the aching to cease, my eyes close and I listen out to the nothingness, noticing my breathing, the rise and fall of my chest. Maybe this is what yoga feels like - a quiet peace that only clever people who put in the effort to feel it can get. I wonder if I should take up yoga, become one of those peaceful people who has everything sorted out.
I shut my eyes, noticing the stones under my back, but not caring enough to move out of my peaceful haven, my safe spot. I almost think I hear a small bird tweeting and I imagine it, perched on a tree branch in the distance, a dark silhouette against the light sky.