A spanish moss place whispers to me.
You’re gonna hurry yourself to death and you won’t figure out a thing if you keep running around, breathing those shallow breaths, taking your notes but then forgetting to read them back to yourself. Seek thick air. Soak in warm drops of water just about to drop from the grey/green overtones. Sit down and let it weigh on your shoulders like a worn velvet curtain, get them down from around your earlobes and remember they’re supposed to be square. Well, yours are anyway. Look at how the curly strands fall down from the trees — for emphasis, maybe — and wave so elegantly, so nonchalantly in the breeze. That’s what you need to do. Go slow. Go like the breeze goes. Practice. Practice more. You’ll be glad — that practice in the breeze will help you hang on when it stirs up high, when the real gets realer, when the gales come.
And they will always come.
Your work here is to learn how not to resist them when they do.