Stepping into the hush I pad toward an open section of floor, assimilating the mood with my soft, muffled steps. Stooping over, I unfurl, watching orange sherbet splash out against burnished wood of the smooth floor.
Straightening to upright, I drift to the corner near the window for blocks, lavender in color – startled at how something with such heft can weigh so little – and then also a curled-up indigo strap from the wicker basket nearby. Tucking both under arm, I cross the room and lift a fringe of woven threads from softly piled hues in another corner and make my way back, navigating through flat parcels of color splayed in neat rows, making it easy.
Settling onto Creamsicle orange, I stretch, placing the lavender cubes just beyond the forward corners of my space and rest the strap atop one – a loosely coiled cobra, lazily asleep.
Peeling off worn socks, I ball them up and put them aside, off of my space, and tuck my folded blanket underneath, offering me lift and comfort. Pretzeled legs raise my knees to meet my outstretched hands which rest palms up, right there.
Here – now.
I close my eyes; my shoulders drop.
I go inside and my day leaves me with my exhale.
I let it go.
I breathe in peace and fill my heart.
This mat anywhere is home.
Twelve square feet to nowhere and everywhere.