What stays with me are those first fingertips, so gentle and healing, that connect us. With eyes closed, we listen to the sounds of the river and begin to sway to a harmony initiated somewhere beyond the room and above the wind.
Night clings to the windows with a slippery grasp and begins to slide toward the day. I become Grandmother Time in the flesh, hemmed in by gravity, provoked by human senses, enticed by consciousness.
The harmony begins at my feet, now invisible beneath the fronds, and amplifies throughout my body. My ears absorb the quiet noise. They have just begun to hear.
We walk into the future and then gaze back to memories that inform us of what we imagined and created for ourselves, mistakenly feeling we had little control over events.
