I feel a shapeshifting coming on…like a slow trickle at the beginning of a landslide after which everything changes…shifts slightly to the left. To the right. The push of a breeze on the small of my back. A hint that, soon, all will be propelling down the mountain to warmer places. Scattered about and rearranged. Exposing roots. Turning over rocks. Pushing air deep into the soil. The slide creates space for a thing once buried, dormant, which slides atop another something that had been so urgent for so long that it became normal, everyday. But, it wasn’t what wanted. This new thing pokes its nose back into my line of vision, gulps, and then, reclines to loll in the sunlight, breathing deeply and smiling at its great fortune to be uncovered.
Fast-write Writing Exercise: Set a timer for 2-5 minutes. Describe what it would feel like to be a tree that falls in a forest. (Insert smile here.) How does it feel to have your roots suddenly exposed to the air? What happens to the exposed roots through a year of seasons?