Tranquility

It disturbed Aiko greatly that she had riled up the documentary crew; when she explained that tranquility is preserved by slow and purposeful action intended to be a complement to stillness, they had swooned and then pelted her with questions for three days. The annoyance to all of her neighbors was one thing; the constant noise of people, trucks, and equipment was another. Aiko took a deep breath, exhaling fully as she pulled on her black bodysuit and drew the matching hood down over her face. She moved silently across the house, opening the screen to the backyard, and swinging herself up the trellis onto the roof. Running, she used the hidden zip lines to travel quickly across other homes and open spaces until she had crossed the valley to the guest camp. Clamping the wires to cut off 95% of their power, she dropped carefully to the ground and emptied a bottle of calming tincture into their fresh water barrel. Within moments, she was back on the lines, moving home. "I tire so easily now," Aiko said to herself, getting back into her sleeping robe. "I feel my limitations acutely." She was not distressed, reflecting that this was natural for a woman of 98.