This morning I wake aware of my sacrum, the triangular bone at the base of the spine.
I wiggle around, rippling the muscles that hold it, imagining breath moving through the sacrum like butterfly wings lifting the bow of my lungs.
Perhaps this desire for movement is because I spent time with a gopher snake yesterday as it crossed the path I was on. I wanted to ensure it made it all the way across so I enjoyed its sinuous movement and the constant flicking of its tongue as it tasted its way to the other side and slipped into the grasses to camouflage, food, and safety.
It’s the 47th day since my brother passed. I feel him here, as though his essence is sprinkling down and through me like flakes of gold. I feel caught in balancing like a bird flying into the wind, caught on receiving a horizon moving in and out of time and space.