# digger #van
A s h p h a l t
I roll along the friendly asphalt path. Warm, smooth, slow. The trees, rocks and sea along my feet, the barren construction terrain fenced off at my head. My weight drains down with gravity, my heavy round head welcoming the textured sky through my visual field. Clouds, light and air swirl and roll with me. A steady pull toward the sea in the direction this body travels along the path. The plants moving with the wind, this fleshy clothed fabric body moves with gravity. In a timescape between rock and cloud, between tree and bee. The digger sounds and moves, operates behind me.
- - There is an observer. A worker watching. - -
I realise I have put on a show. I want to hide now. Blend into the asphalt. I must practice this. Or practice being visible, being seen. Practice strangeness. I fear of being seen as exhibitionist, as an attention-seeking woman, among the rubble of shredded land that will soon be engineered up, climbing the sky to be seen for all.
Listen to the construction workers and their machines.
Be approachable, not defensive.
Be soft and strong.