4.3.26

Outside-- light mist, the sound of footsteps hitting the pavement, and stopping for a brief moment to look at the blooming plum blossoms overhead. Tightness in the hips, for a second arriving in the body, there's nothing deeper still. Life was silent, or maybe just turning over and away from me in sleep. I have the  sensation of wanting to evade capture. What kind of beast turns its life into words? (Adrienne Rich). Without enclosure, without language, without practice, what do I become? The low tide maybe, pulling away to reveal all the life underneath it.