Unnatural Order

Dust does not fall like snow, gentle and purposeful towards the ground. Dust does not believe in gravity. Dust is directionless, it falls and floats, mixes and turns. Fine dust in the air can haze everything in earthy tones. Sand sized dust glitters in the warm morning glow as I ponder what to do with my day. Whether it’s even necessary that something be done.

The dust is settling but I am not convinced the final resting place is the carpet, or table or books. That implies they all went down, when we know dust doesn't observe natural orders or scientific theories. Flittering in the light, shining through my window on a lazy Tuesday morning, the dust finds settlement anywhere but down. It congregates on the polaroid images of me on summer break. Seeking unseen surfaces that loom above eye line. Slipping between the crevasses of under used antiques, and over used seats.

My eyes watch the stragglers as they depart sight. Some make miniscule movements, near undetectable. The ones that remain after the stir and glimmering have no choice but to follow the guided path. There is only one direction for the motionless. The natural order of being a non-anomaly. Of falling while others float, rise and shimmer.

With slight detours, left and right, the spec remains a spec. The way down is the only way and soon it will settle on the mines mass printed on a children’s play mat that does its best at normalising sites of human destruction. Until the leftover dust is stepped on, kicked up in another flurry of life. Unable to move independent of aggression. With every potential to become the dust that moves to a top shelf or a beloved teddy bear. With every potential to settle outside the confines of theory and unnatural order. To move free and true through change. Lest the dust fall once more because it knows no other possibility and would not dream of finding one.