Entry 349
Character Addendum: Ian: Ascendant
The Wind Dances:
He stood with knees in a soft bend, relaxed, hips curled forward and up, back rolled and head tilted downward. palms rested within one another at his navel. Blue eyes closed as he breathed slowly. With each slow breath, he broadened his awareness. Each breath brought with it a scent, a sound. a taste on the air. He felt the early morning frost that clung to the leave of trees nearby. he could taste the soft acrid flavor of dust that was stirred with the passing of the cold wind.
He could smell the sunlight, if it had such a thing. To him, it felt like the sensation of yawning, like the world were streaching out and reaching skyward for the shining light above him. A foot lifted and then stomped down, a small cloud of dusty earth and the crack of frost under his feet as his weight centered one one leg, another lift, another shift and another step down, firm into the earth as he balanced himself on the balls of his feet.
His hands turned inward, sliding within and across one another as he took in another deep breath, hands lifted and raised skyward, back flexing slowly from one extreme to another, a series of pops and cracks as arms reached and then flaired out to his side, he joined the world in its yawning streach. Head turning upward to feel the sunlight. In the warmth of the light he could discern east and west, north and south by the sensation of light on his skin.
In the distance, there were cracks and pops as the branches of trees in this distance snaped off the frost they had gathered in the night. the sounds echoed in the silence, and he let them carry to him a sense of things. left foot first, he slide his foot along the ground, barely touching, and settled down firmly, palms facing inward and raised high, spun down and faced outward again. Palms turned like the seasons, rolled from one to the next. Each morning his took his steps, danced with the wind in silence. He embraced the wind and let it roll and guide him. He whirled and spun, sank and rose, in his mind he flew even though in the world he walked a circle. Each step, each buckle of the knee and swing of the leg, each crouch and step and cover and whirl flowed one from the next. He fought the world. Each time he was hit with lose, despair, rage, sadness, he tried to absorbed it, rolled with and let it spin him, but each step left or right rolled with it, and carried him another step forward. His morning routine was a manifiestation of that.
When he was completed, mentally and physically, his eyes opened for the first time of the day, he was exaughsted. But as he sat, steam rolling off him from the sweat in the cold, he felt more centered, more focused. By the time next gather came, he would be better. He as certain of it. He smiled softly, and then lay back on the cold ground, arms flopping out to the sides as he watched the clouds sail past.
"Oh hey, that one looks like a turtle..."