APART OR A PART?

Sometimes, and today is one of those times, I feel so out of kilter with the zeitgeist that I feel as though I have lost myself. All the indicators of a successful self seem to be so at odds with what being in society now indicates that it makes me question my own efforts and history. History: his story. His story sounds odd and out of sorts. Heroics? Out of place.
What to stay true to?
Days like this the answer to that question seems to come in anything but direction and progress.
Even preference deserts me.
Stillness, perhaps.
Silence?
I find my answers more and more in the ditches and hedgerows, less and less in headlines, heroism and progress.
The ditches. Where the preyed on live. The dullest of dull places. Not the mountains, the peaks and glories, but the flat dull lands. Places not fit for heroes to live in. Here, cows stand still and chew. Rabbits hide. Snowdrops live briefly up to their name. Rooks do what rooks do - fly theft sorties, shoplifting edibles, then caw pointlessly, and cover the bare covert with white shit. The barn owl hunts silently across the ridges and furrows, seeing little, yet hearing from a kilometer away the tiniest sound of prey. Deer feed, reproduce, excrete, feed. And die. A myriad of species become life from their death. When feeling most apart, I feel most a part of this. A dweller in the flatlands. As pointless and transient as that snowman we made, after the rush of sledging.