Nyah Socorro larraruri

When I’m not rushing, I notice how my feet hit the ground. There’s a rhythm to walking that you can’t hear when you’re power-striding to the next obligation, the hurried clack of soles erased from the auditory memory as quickly as it is created. Moving slower, my steps feel more deliberate, tethered to something larger. The uneven pavement tells a... See more

Simply, tend. To ourselves. To others. To space. To time. To ideas, both stubborn and fleeting. To the practice of living, which requires little more than our immediate senses. To uncharted or forgotten paths.