Wordless and Earthen

North The allies of sleep had been called upon, the storm was so strong that no one would go to school the following morning. Friendly rivers started streaming underground. Singing lullabies underneath the earth. Everyone was dreaming of capillary sea water seeping out from their skin pores. Collective visions reshaping their homes, opening holes. No walls, however, were more sacred than rain water. Heavy rains were considered living beings, they moved freely without constraints. Each drop still holds the power of uniting with the next and, once combined, becomes a liquid mother that carries the nurturing information needed by her children. Washing away trauma and cleaning distorted memories, feeding every existing pore of the earth. On nights like these, we grew. South Once more the harvest had finished before my arrival. Even though every right moment had been secreted away, I continued hoping to be part of it. — our mother told me be patient. The dry brown mountain has a strong solar appetite and, thus, can never be left unprotected if it is to heal. Our grandparents were educated to stop feeding the earth. Now, naked and unnourished, erosion has spread bringing thirst. Everyone knows that the dynamic of the moon is here to cooperate. But they’ve forgotten how. And as I woke, more pressure points were calling for touch harmonizing the Qi. Our brown wet hands would also embrace the motion of the wheel this Spring. So, very soon, warm air currents would accelerate time and forms. Overturning our touch. We knew then that evaporation was rhythm and revolution our daily medicine with a romantic twist.