Still

On a still morning, time slowed,
objects announced themselves more clearly.
All the things obvious but unseen,
the old guitar, the half done chore ,
the things that called for sorting.
The texture of a folded towel
the glow from a lamps reflection.
The sounds and creaks of  a house rising from sleep,
the broad scope of awareness without direction.
Our life's are most sublime in this stepping out of time,
beyond the self's lusting for distraction.
no could ,no should, no if i would.
just now and all as is ,without addition or subtraction.