last week

I felt the tension disappear in the warmth of afternoon. Sitting had never been so easy. Shaking out the little bits of turf from my shoe, for once I did not consider where each had been or what it had seen. For once, I was my own foreground and it was good to be alive and warm. My subconscious was not dying without all my focus and attention, but rather gaining strength from a long, indefinite period of rest while I took pleasure in the senses and scenes around me. Words became cramped then, and needed room to breathe as well. I saw a face that belonged to me and could name it. I was alive and in love and the teacher whose first name no one knew declared, "It's a love-life day."