At first, it was like church with your parents. A ritual with attentions traded elsewhere. There was a lot of staring and daydreams spread wide like grazing buffalo. My hibiscus held this front row ticket daily. Sitting next to him, I noticed something unexpected. There was a deep calmness that came from immobility. All the decisions of where to go and how to get there faded. Glued to the floor, the world became a slow ebbing canvas. Passive miracles happened in this room. Like this sunbeam preparing for a solo. As the day spread before us, I could imagine how life tasted stuck right here in a pot. How conversations in my kitchen were a land far away. The coffee pot sputtered. The sound a mere pigeon cooing in the distance. After all, there was no kitchen.
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