The sound a gull’s wings make.

Peace is the sound a gull’s wings make.

It’s not a sound that is heard with the ears;

it’s a sound that is seen with the eyes.

It’s difficult to sustain peace;

peace is not something that is sustained.

Peace is something that is unveiled.

It comes when you stop looking for it.

It is in the moment when you see light glint off the exhaust pipe of a dirty lorry.

It comes unbidden in the sound of children tantruming in public.

It glares off the bald pates of the OAP’s wandering the aisles of asda.

It lies embedded in the crease your jeans make when you sit down.

It’s in the sound of the words of a domestic argument.

It is the heart of anger and the sweetness of melancholy.

It is there when it seems it isn’t as well as when it seems it is.

It waits for you to rest, to sit down, to stand up.

It waits for you to see – to really see – with eyes that aren’t trying to see anything.

Peace is the sound a gull’s wings make.

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