What would it be to weave seamlessly into the fabric of the beast? To bodily wriggle, hunker or mold into soft landscape of her being?
In the woods, I slip into the silence at the heart of things, moving, in hope, to create the smallest possible ripples in the fabric of the here-now.
And then I am trying to write, to try to capture something in phrases. To say the something which is buzzing in my body. Wordless vibrations set off by the nearness of the land; the way she has, to the smallest degree, set off her dance beneath my skin.
I am making such small progress and am so lacking in the apparatus to notice and name the ripples and sensations that fleetingly arising in me each day.
But I work on.
Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash
