There is beauty at the surface. It is there in an eye, on the edge of skin, in a touch once made, unending. If she fell it would be an endless pool of liquid. Smooth and warm and each sensation at the right frequency for the exact duration. Touch. Touch. Touching. The air is so wonderfully all around her. She runs, she runs, she wakes up running. Sleep another story waiting for the right moment, the right time of the day, a year changes shape in a pattern she is learning to follow the flow of. Nothing is a puzzle. She is uninterested in solving it. She walks and walks and there are wires overhead; they crisscross from pole to building and back again. She looks up. It’s a Kandinsky.* She looks up. It is moving. Silence. Song. Just air, wind, color, motion, and nothing stands in for anything. It is. It is. It is something she is a part of. Standing underneath a blue, a red, an orange sky just southeast of Boulder. She has no memory she has the standing.
Leaves hang like hummingbirds from the trees. It is so windy, and every one is dancing. She is every age she’s ever been before. Riding ponies just like her Auntie. She knows nothing beyond the narrow strips of story. Piece work and resourcefulness. She was never good at threading things. Spinning was an art form. Dick Buttons said so, he said it once if he said it a hundred times. Round and round, so many things made to move in revolutions. Centrifuge. Centripede. There was a moment when the muscles felt like they would burst and go spilling out of their casings. Chorizo† in a cast iron, the intestinal walls were so transparent and thin, they were strong enough, but not impenetrable. Chitlins was a delicacy she had never heard of. You had to trust that person, if you were to eat from them.
There are tons of old folk, she never noticed their lives before. Never noticed anything because the overwhelming volume was so forceful. The eyes were simulta
* Wassily Kandinsky was a Russian-born modern abstract painter, well known for his conceptualizations of the relationship between color and sound.
† Chorizo is a spicy Mexican pork sausage.