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practice & repetition - by Nix 🕊 - starting from nix

startingfromnix.com · 727 words · saved by 1 readers

These days the black birds don’t swarm the skies like they used to, but San Francisco is still hauntingly beautiful. Pretty from the sun-lit hills of Strawberry Canyon, the brilliant green blue coast collapsing into itself; Pretty on M’s balcony in twin peaks, a stripe of light running vertical through the main streets, pooling in gold where tributaries of road meet the 101; Pretty in the slick of rain on the Muni home. It’s been raining a lot. The smell of rain is deeply familiar: lilies, drainage pipes, and moss. My childhood was full of rainstorms. Deep torrential rainstorms that left the world shivering and glossy and colder in their wake. Whenever a monsoon lifted, I’d walk into the forest near my home. I’ve probably walked the same path 1000 times and each time felt something different. Sometimes the trees seemed greener, or the path seemed shorter or longer. The colors felt softer or more vivid. The birds’ flying patterns shifted. What that walk made me feel is something I’ve be

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