At a certain point in the existence of some people, the opinions of others cease to matter.  The stillness of the air soothes.  The tea simmers hot in the cup; the crumpets lie crisp upon the plate.  Newspapers sit forgotten on the table.  Eyes stare dreamily out the window, into the street.  Passing cars don’t disturb the calm; the ringing phone falls silent, unattended.  The chest rises and falls with each drawn breath.  A delicious chill runs down the spine.  The hand rests easy on the arm of the chair and the pen rolls across the table unbidden.  This moment:  this second signals my independence from the chains which have bound me for so long.  There are no fireworks in the sky, nor none within my mind, but a shooting star spans the horizon.  I am contented.