Asilomar State Beach, Pacific Grove, California
A ray of morning light angled through the living room window. The first dust particle to catch my eye seemed rather large and fell through the light with some speed. Others, the shape of twisted threads, followed, tumbling and spinning. The moment reminded me of watching dust fall as a child, reaching into the beam of light and trying to pinch the particles between my thumb and finger, hoping to capture the bits that would disappear with every effort.
What pleasure did I derive from such a trivial thing, the randomness of falling particles, somehow interesting enough to capture my attention? Watching dust float is right next to sitting in silence and the tranquil sensation that comes with it.
Many of the bits of dust were mere specks of bright light that moved sideways, sometimes in pairs, and others seemed to defy gravity and ascend. The experience lasted only a few moments, but it possessed an essence of its own. The seconds lingered, brimming with a feeling of absence, with no distraction to obscure the certainty of dust falling through sunshine.
One speck blazed red like Mars. The ember seemed illuminated from its core. It sped into view but then hovered slowly, twisting and rolling, as if the hand of fate was having its way with the bit of nothing. It moved to the right, drifted up, then dropped as if set free, wandering out of sight, never to be seen again.