a sense of place.

I only want to.

I see no problem with loosing 

oneself

often.

It builds humbleness 

and a stronger sense

of the power

of the personal narrative.

Freedom.

to meander down dusty roads

in thought and in body

turning eyes to the sun

and back to the dust.

to feel the beginnings of spring

forcing its wobbly, kinetic energy 

through layers of silent winter sun 

in spindly tendrils of molecules upon bare skinned faces. 

to let the place consume the Self

then realize it, murky thick air

through which the body moves

in the rush to orient the Self whilst separated into the Other. 

{first photo via ffound.

second and third photos via Joanna Goddard, by Linn Photography.}