I am slithering up the west side of a waterfall full with birds and pinwheels and flowers. a wise woman hovers on the east side. At first I think she is speaking with the birds and flowers passing by, floating down the slope. then I realize she is speaking to me. I can’t really hear her. I lean forward straining. she too leans forward. she has something important to tell me.

“go slow.”

she says more -- there are more words -- but they all mean the same thing.
“slow down.”
“poco a poco”

she sees me from across this river of flowers and pinwheels and birds, falling falling falling over a cliff, and she knows everything.

I strain to hear each word as though I will find the key or the final puzzle piece -- but all that echoes in my head is “go slow.”


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