I always wake up early, ease my way past slumbering bodies, find some quiet unobtrusive place to stretch before starting the day. I stretch fast on dusty cement or hard wood floors, in the same manner I put away the morning-dishes, like it’s a chore.

One morning Megan asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee and stretch by the stream. The water pulsed as we dug our feet into the sand and silently plied our limbs. Stretching was no longer a prerequisite to the day but a moment within it. At one moment I found myself lying on my back, my legs bent under me facing the sky. I stayed there for a long while letting my weight sink into the sand, feeling myself, a tiny sliver of humanity parsing one minute section of earth and sky.

Place does matter. Each week I’m increasingly aware of the difference between my white square studio space and the lively color of each location we explore. I would like to be in each place longer to better absorb that color and do it justice.