Remembering standing still, in layers, omelettes of snow. waiting for listening to catch up with my senses.
Walking in summer. Warm winds dance out the seeds of rose bay willow herb in the evening light. they move, turn, stop, become arrested with currents and I gaze amazed and i awe of these tiny dancing freedom fighters for their next life. literally throwing themselves i the wind. dumb struck with the beauty of the wind which the seeds give a brush to. arrested i try to take in through my senses the conjuring, the trick of life.
My hips lengthen into the dirt, they swing into the earth. walking is different here, there is lingering, watching , listening, waiting. spreading my watching through the skin. the pulse of my breath acknowledges muscle and fibre and tissue stretching, reaching to be part of the landscape. to be. to be there. and no where else.
