in the name of bassoon repair, sit on the pebble beach. is it a beach really or only a shore? something about it today is comforting. the way you can make rounded shapes in the surface. fit my sore muscles into the smooth-soft-pointed-hard “sand”. today they take away the pain, the stones that is, rather than dish it out. •
listen to them: the stones. how the small and large ones sound different. pick them up and sprinkle them down like icing on the cake of this warm sunny day. lie on your front, lie on your side. warm yourself like a lizard. hold the stones. run your thumb over them. feel how silky smooth, be soothed, be present. •
what else is there? a gull methodically works its way across the lower tier of pebbles. i find myself in the air and sky. the sandy flats covered by the incoming tide. •
i am the wind, named after what i am running away from. i blow away from something, not towards anything. but i’m chased, like the waves chase the pebbly shore. chasing myself around and around the globe.