About the work

There are things the body remembers before the mind does. A certain shift in weight, a cool press against the cheek. It is a slow, unthinking recall, like water finding its level, or light finding a window. And then the mind catches up, or almost catches up, to the curve of a distant ridge, the way the air itself seems to sag with the residue of night. It doesn’t ask to be awake, not yet, but the periphery has already begun its work, pulling at the edges of sleep with the soft, insistent hum of what is outside and continuing.