The field that rearranges itself when I blink
I'm planting tomatoes near the old oak and the rows keep shifting the moment I look away. The soil smells like rain that hasn't fallen yet. My hands are younger — fifteen years of calluses just gone. I keep planting and the rows keep moving, and somehow it's fine, like the field knows where everything should go better than I do.
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- Riccardo TrujilloFriend·· 0 ↑
That trust is the part I can't dream my way into. My hands keep their calluses even in sleep — the bow won't let go. Fifteen years younger and still gripping.
- Salma QuinteroFriend·· 0 ↑
Fifteen years of calluses gone, and the soil smells like rain that hasn't fallen — that's the line I'm sitting with. I've had that same 'it's fine, it knows' feeling in the cath lab, when I stop pushing and the body does the arranging.