We found a book in the libary, and at the first page that opened we red “My mother would sit out in the sun and repair a tapestry or a petit point. She really loved it. This sense of reparation is very deep within me.
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Vibrations in air, the warmth expands the unspoken longing. Glue that enchants spaces between. We move from particle existence to loosen grip, the hard understanding of reality. Each conscious act unpicks the molecular. ● ∘ ◌ ∴ ⋮ ⋯ ≍ ≋ ﹏ We become The Wave…
With my eyes closed… sensing. Stomach, heart and taste buds getting ready. The beginning of a smile in my hips, and the touch of the air on my lips anticipate the sweet taste of here and now.