There is a place where dead leaves are strewn across rolling hills like anti-confetti. Between these hills is a valley where sun shines down through a light covering of mist. The wind picks up from time to time and reanimates the leaves.
Years ago a great many people fell in this place, in the valley between the hills, but time has brought peace there. Peace and stillness. The trees, the wind, the sun, the grass, the moon, the stars, the hills, and the valley. That's all there is in this place now.
At night the wind dies down, and it gets so quiet that you might just hear the faintest roar of a shooting star as it pushes through a field of immobile darkness which you might gaze up at from the top of one of those hills.
Or an animal might come crunching through the leaves looking in vain for something it's lost until eventually the animal gives up, comes to rest in the grass, and becomes content to stare up at the sky, waiting.
There is a certain kind of person who has something of this place in him. Or a better way of putting it would be that he has the nothingness of this place in him. You look at him and on the surface all is fine, well, normal, and peaceful, but inside he is empty. He will welcome you with open arms, but if you try to complicate the simple beauty of what he offers, you will be brought down. This person will cut you off, will take his knowledge of you and bury it. Deep down in some dead place where the wind doesn't reach.
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