Reading: The Weary Traveller


Where will I sway my skirt next? My feet are restless; these pazebs speak to me even before I have taken a step. Truly I feel like flying. I miss our conversations.

A few days ago it poured. So I rolled my jeans up, took off my slippers and walked to the station barefoot, wet in the rain. I remember in Europe after swimming in a cold waterfall, I walked back as it was halfway barefoot allowing the sun to dry me. Is this a way of existing with the what is?

My friend asked me ‘In dance, how do you get into character?’ So I said, ‘By first wearing the right skirt.’


6 thoughts on “Reading: The Weary Traveller

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