Roots, legs, wings, and fins

Perhaps the entire planetary system is a set of patterns. Whispers. Spokes of thought. To and toward containments, vivid and soft. A constellation of dots. Perhaps we refresh our perceptions each time we sharpen the pencil and make connections; each time we tie individual points together in new configurations using a series of stems and vines, fine gossamer laces, cerebral filigree and stretch marks.

Maybe our new creations will emerge as images of shared aspirations. Or maybe in order for us to embody the lightness we witness in the jumping of a fox, our lone bird of purpose, who draws a straight line with her flying body, will stir the leaf of our utmost elegance in shades of green and undulations of coolness; sunk deep, always in the shade. Maybe, with lit eyes and attention lengthened to its limits, we will drink from the brilliance and invite fish to swim along our borders. Trees will bend over us.