Wind shift

The air hung so very still, still like the moment of dawn, still like time had slowed to a crawl, as though everything had reverted to a hibernation of self-preservation, and they were left, the two of them, alone in a slumbering world.

There was nothing more to do, really, except wait it out. The humming buzzing of a bee wafted through the scene like a brief moment of static on a silent radio station, weaving in and out, settling finally on her hand, a point of life in the desert, a tiny vortex of energy, and they both watched it as though it were the last living thing on earth, a miracle of survival in the suspended animation that surrounded them.

A gust of wind struck them, its force more in the element of surprise than in the collected strength of air particles, and the bee stumbled, and they all turned their entire beings towards it, as though towards the morning star. The moment broke apart, as though the earth, realizing the futility of waiting, had resumed breathing.