American Beauty

She paused, for no apparent reason, in the middle of the bedroom. She stood looking thought the giant double doorway to the living room, looking at no one thing, but suddenly overwhelmed by the gray glow of sunlight through the windows ahead. Something had simply made her feet stop at that exact spot.

Involuntarily she adjusted the slouch of her neck and stood up a little straighter. Her shallow breathing instantly grew deeper and more deliberate. As she took in the moment, entranced by both the beauty of the stillness and the oddness of it all, she was simultaneously distracted by her feet which had paused just slightly short of a comfortable distance apart.

She awkwardly reveled in the slight imbalance as seconds ticked like lifetimes until her body, for no apparent reason, relieved the tension. But at the very instant her right foot adjusted every so slightly, the moment was lost. Time resumed as normal.

She hurried to find her notebook and returned to sit on the spot in the bedroom that had caught her feet, eager to record the moment, but it was impossible. The words beneath her pencil were just an over-analyzed echo of the experience.

Listening to: Thomas Newman, American Beauty