Should that you feel the same sun warm your face - I'd give you my eyes if I could.
This idyll, simple and unencumbered - the perfect angle of the light and stillness, the tiny details of the living shimmering around me -
I imagine you cold or not at all.
How worshipful I've become of things that grow in spite of me: that the earth moves and the sun shines, for green grass a blue sky, that the birds are taken care of. How much I love the cells of my skin knowing not nor caring for naught but their use. What ultimate indulgence, this, to be dissolved alone in a garden or a mountain. What perfect forms it can take and how heavenly to be warm and at ease, unobligated, an animal and vegetable mind up with the birds floating to the ground, the verdant bright and quiet.
Face to the sun and back to you - that's the nature of geography. But this warm, this alignment! That I could shine you through this facet, clear and glittering bright, sitting now alone and needing nothing.
How habitable it is here, to feel warm and grown.
How simple.
