Early light

I stretch in the dark, extending each finger, each toe. I watch the light bleeding in through the edge of the curtains, listening as a train rolls by in the distance. I begin to think of my day. Coffee, food, work, eating enough fruits and vegetables. 

I pull on socks, shoes, a jacket. Stretch again before going outside. It's early and quiet; only dogs and joggers pass. A winter bird dances in a tree above me. I try to remember my dream, but it breaks apart like smoke. I don't remember what woke me. I don't remember the feeling. The world is new, and getting brighter.

Drawn together

Familiar stories, loud laughter, warm mugs, cold rain, early nights, long conversations, the right words, daydreams, bright colours, slow walks, first shivers, warm socks, quiet world, faraway thoughts.

Then

The old songs, the old stories. Kneading bread, the soft sliding of dough across a coating of flour. Sharing remedies for broken limbs, broken hearts. The old ways of setting hair, of sitting in public, of passing the time. The old knowledge. Can that other world be a part of us still? What parts of them do we hold within us?

How do you live in a city?

You unpack your possessions and fill your home. You crave familiarity and comfort. You carve out a silent space for your life. All around you, hundreds do the same. It connects us all, these private and common rituals. All of our overlapping unseen lives.

Stillness

Light fades across the room. A neglected balcony garden, which is overgrown and drooping. The strange trill of the cicadas rises and drops. Rises again. These days they speak to you early, stay late. These days there is stillness, heat in your lungs, the small mercies in the shade.

Connected

At night I have dreams that I am leaping over backyard fences easily, with one arm. There are endless rows of them and I never look at the houses. It’s just the fences, one by one. I am being pursued. I always know that, though I never feel fear, or panic. In fact, I am light, connected to something strong that hums under my feet. And with each leap I feel stretched and buoyant, like I may never touch the ground again.