The grass beneath my feet
The grass slowly grows beneath my feet as I go deeper into the ground.
My limbs root and I choke and chew the dirt.
The grass surely grows.
A spinning top eventually wobbles
I didn't expect to enjoy spinning a top as much as I did and for now--am. There is a simple satisfaction of separating this balanced object from my surprisingly matched fingers. I've only spun this top about twenty times over a few days but as I watched this last spin I teetered at the threshold of what simpleness meant to me. I immediately crafted a fantasy of the perfect and everlasting spin and that seeing this would feel magically pleasureable. It quickly became clear that it was the unexpected quirky spins and movements I enjoyed. Each dance depended on the moment and manner of release from my meat-mitt grip. I studied this machined wooden toy and realized it wasn't as perfect as the others strewn across the display. My eyes followed the rings that had been dissected from the massive tree it was plucked from as they wandered throughout. This tree must have grown against nature as it pressed them during deficient conditions and during abundance grown wider. This s...
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