Only humans have mistaken speed for proof of life.We rush through our movements. We photograph moments—smiles and sunsets—before seeing them. Lucky if we ever really see them at all, as we seek for the extraordinary, and measure our days by what was accomplished rather than what was witnessed—or better yet, what we discovered. But there is poetry in the everyday and ordinary. There is an inner world—a whole inner life. Enter in. Stay long enough to discover the nearly indiscernible movement inside what seemed completely still. Where every ordinary thing becomes much more than what it seems to be.