it is the walking, someplace nearby, that brings the land, our terrain, into scale & it is the immersion into the rudiments of wind, thickness & wetness of atmosphere & the sensation of foot in shoe & shoe on uneven surface that makes us part of it ..
we want to hear the sounds of the person striding next to us, the rustle of their clothes, & the cadence of their step, & the changing quality of illumination on their moving figure & the mixed unique pitch of their tone of voice .. we speak common words though these are partially erased at times by the setting that may have some occasional dull distant deliberate unrecognized roar ..
in the background, unseen planes could be starting & stopping, mid-air, somewhere & someplace that is nearby ..
water diminishing on a path is endemic of the reiteration of discreet movement in an arid place ..
we hike in the evenings, after the sun has set, because the remaining minutes of fading luminescence are temporal & safe .. the regular wind truncates speech so we make hand signals & knock elbows .. the up & down shift of the blush hills make us appear stationary, the crush of small rocks & their sharp ricochet, the brush of bush of trees against the fabric of our clothing, locate us concretely in a particular peculiar location in space that is just beyond the backyards of neighbors’ homes houses ..
from another perspective, helicopters patrolling, distant, appear stationary ..
construction zones in the south, south of town, extend to the north ..
she stands in her parking lane to imagine a route before she drives it – many automobiles self-navigate yet their drivers are only sometimes mindful of these internal automatic silent navigators – but the ability or capability of her car is imprinted on her mind ..
she sees the wind caressing the window, the window of the car, as she drives from town to city .. she is softly attentive & she anticipates the upcoming diverting turns and curves ..
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