There's a postcard tacked to my wall at home that makes me think of you. Every time I glance at it, I think of you. A man sitting on the floor of a gallery, his head bent down toward the book in his folded legs, deep in his reading. There's a picture of a gorilla above him.If I spend more than a moment looking at it, I can tell that the man looks nothing at all like you, I wouldn't be able to convince anyone who knows you that it looks anything like you. Perhaps it's the way his head is bent, or the way he's so comfortable in that position -- a position I can't hold for long without my knees aching -- or maybe it's his glasses, the fact that he's wearing glasses.
It gets me every time. A melancholy remembrance of you.
Where are you right now? Bending, stretching, teaching someone a new yoga position; eating healthfood, crunching an apple; throwing a stick for your three-legged dog to fetch?
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