It's cold and sleet is falling. We set up by the fallen fence. This tumbling threshold, folding in on itself as the ground collapses toward its flattening. My body hovers at this edge, taking in the trees and sea horizon, the ominous diggers in the distance. Stationary diggers and trucks on Sunday. I fall up into the sky filled with clouds. I want to bless all this breathing space with my expansion. I traverse the fallen threshold and feel the hot breath depart my body. Walking along gravel and moving toward stillness. Containers and equipment lying dormant yet alert. Tracing this horizon line here, now. Mapping and remembering this empty space where once forest and full-bodied granite inhabited it. Dynamite and diggers have destroyed the ghost-land and I'm haunted by the future of the crowded sky. 

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A partner appears adorned in melted sleet drops. 

A skin that housed a piece of this future construction puzzle, now drifting.

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Air currents and echoes.

We share this blip together, but I'll be long gone, as you remain somewhere dreaming of decomposing.

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Practice:

1. Open your gaze to your periphery. 

2. With your finger, trace the outline of the horizon you see now panoramically.

3. Swap hands and repeat, tracing the horizon of the past. 

4. Swap again, and trace the horizon line of the future. 

5. Thank the sky.

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--- Thank you to Juha Penttilä for his support 

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