the whoosh of stillness that comes

the whoosh of stillness
that comes with
sitting on the wooden stool
after getting home from singing
in the drizzling rain, planting garlic, harvesting the last of the cabbages,
pulling out dandelion, mulching the beds, among the other things, with all those good people that came out to
be with me in the

garden

the slight movement of ribcage
(mine)
soft sounds of car tires on wet pavement
and then the clanking of someone putting away dishes downstairs,
remembering that mine are still dirty in the sink
but not giving into the urge to call out
i’ll do those!
and instead just sitting there
noticing the movement of air
with a particular
heaviness
of settling into my skin, holding the vibrations of all of the talking singing event-organizing more talking hugging laughing more singing more event-organizing that i did in the
morning

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