What the sea teaches

August is teaching me to slow down. The stage asks for fire; the sea asks for the opposite: patience, breathing, letting things arrive.

I have spent days among boats, coves and long lunches, and I keep catching myself walking more slowly, speaking more softly, looking more.

I write this in a notebook that has travelled with me for years. Almost everything I write in it ends up, sooner or later, turned into dance. Rest is rehearsal too, even when it does not look like it.

Tonight I dress up for a gala again. The fire will be back, and the lights, and that good nerve before stepping out. But part of me is still in the water.

And I suspect it will dance better for it.