Fish in an aquarium:

Space flowers in flight, timeless in their wisdom.

Music:

Spirits come to make you happy. They move your body and you enter different lives, become more than before.

Speech:

Like rocks placed one in front of another, a path for those who can’t see.

Feathers:

The soft residue of worlds not our own.

Sand:

The idea of forever, where everything is the same size.

Mom:

Her voice, the scent and light of her hair, the home I will always return to.

And then, two new mothers, each one wearing sweat pants and with a baby strapped to her chest, walked serenely down the street. They were almost glowing, almost hovering, and they walked in geisha silence, as if having moved passed language to an inalienable home that would be forever present.