#123
I lay my yoga mat on the floor in the middle of the afternoon and turn on the ceiling fan. The dog is asleep under the table, his preferred summer napping spot.
I don’t unfurl my limbs to stretch, so much as to pause my mind and turn on a Mozart piece I read about in the New Yorker. A piece I’ve not listened to. I need a moment, and the three movements are twenty minutes, a perfect amount of time to reset.
Near the beginning of the third movement, my eyes drift off, my arms stretched above my head; my feet out to the side. Corpse pose, is what it’s known as. At 4PM on a Monday, it is rightfully named.
The piece subsides, and as if on cue, the dog walks over and licks my ears, rubs up against my body. We lay there, suspended under the cool air, waiting to see what’s in store for the rest of the day.