to a crawl
I want everything slower.
I want slow food. Slow days. Slow transportation - walking; long conversations on trains. Slow builds and long collapses. Time to move like breath in savasana; like batter poured carefully into a muffin tin.
I've begun to experience the sensation, lately, of riding time - feeling it under me, moving steady and uncheatable and solid. Yesterday, Bear and I slipped down the Crest at the murky end of dusk, coming to a rest at one of its lower turnouts. Standing with him as our bikes clicked their cooldown to the answering crickets, I felt the weight of it pulling us forward like a conveyor.