In red we danced around her center, this spindle of thread that binds us. To sense and orient within this world, palpable to its touch, we must remember not to unravel her core. To return to her center, to gather up the distance between, to maintain a steady gaze in through her eyes. To remain close to the heart of our world, what is other is what defines who we are, what shapes our place within this more than human world. Without her many pulses we will lose our rhythm, our inherit rite, we are of the same blood that bleeds for us.
Image by: Edvina Meta