2024 January #003. Gravity loosens its grip, or does the earth push up, propelling my form into a tumble? Away from the felt path, across the surface, the serenity of flipped reality seeps in. There’s something here between the daisy-speckled green and the limitless azure—a suspension of disbelief, gentle as a cloud's shadow fleeting over hills.
I feel the air, different up here, my breath slightly deeper, more eminent, feeding off the Earth's exhaled fragrance. There's a dance in the disorientation, the world unfamiliar yet cradling, a nurturing contradiction. Where petals brush against skin, time slows—a tactile whisper against velocity.
I consider the bees, the unseen roots intertwined like secret handshakes beneath the soil, the nodding flowers keeping rhythm to a silent symphony of light and warmth. How these moments, ephemeral and overlooked, construct the essence of living, the beauty in the surrender to, not against, the field’s embrace.
My eyes trace the arc of my flight, untroubled by destination, no landing foretold; instead, I orbit through this capsule of space, noting the sharp contrast, the softness, the colors blurred in their haste to be noticed. And I think, maybe this is what freedom tastes like—a fleeting rush, cool and sweet, brushed with dandelion wishes, away from the linear, into the embrace of the sky.
