The lake is expanding, the feather falling slower than it should. The leaves are waving. There’s a calling into space. The space that you can maneuver yourself into with a shoulder. Ever so gently. The space when the sun lights a patch and overhead starts to twinkle. The space when a berry ripens plump and lush inviting you to the picking.

Something beyond the verbal slow burns into silence and caves and dropping away from productivity towards experience. The felt. The misunderstood. The non-knowledge.  The becoming mute. The rejecting. The multiple layers of understanding. Following a trail of trial and error connections to the environment. Some sense of attention. Makes my cells smile. Feel the thing growing from within me – organically taking shape –as all life grows.

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