I wait a while for words to appear. An ambience, a presence, an aura, awakening, this light, electric energies.
The sun, warming the clouds, the seas the land, appearance. On the other side, settling, cooling.
Warm air blowing in from the ocean, far away hurricanes, a traveller arrives on the coast, thankful to come ashore. Awakening.
The rhythms of an era, music, coffee, a notebook, the pen, some ink begins to flow, shapes, symbols, signs.
I awake to a wonder of reason, meaning, values, sense, and look back, reflect, contemplate. A trail, a trace, trodden, a touch; of meaning, of reason, here and there, these stones to touch, to hold, to gather, with the twigs. The stones have weathered, the twigs are mulching, the bugs are munching everything, gently, slowly, digesting.
A brief conversation, she ends with the words, "you're not wrong". I finish my coffee, she carries on dancing into the day, from table to table, from person to person, a smile a frown, a lightness, of being. A child skips by, the adult stops to check her phone, the child stops, twirls, looks up and down, all around, the adult moves into walking again, the child skips along by her side.
Books, books. A meditative practice, murmuring, mumbling, munching, messy, forming, shaping, leaves, inked, encased, shelved, selves, sitting, silent, embodied.