the water has pulled back from the land.
what remains is a wide and silent field.
the ground is dark with the memory of the flood, scoured clean of the old choking patterns.

the mind arrives first, an eager surveyor.
it wants to stake claims and draw new maps across the open space.

the body follows, more slowly.
it feels the cool earth.
it registers the stillness as a form of presence.

the practice is to stand here.
to inhabit the muddy expanse without the need for a blueprint.
to let the quiet be the structure.

the chalk squares were faded on the sidewalk.
he took a small hop, landing one shoe in the first box.
his work jacket pulled at the shoulders.

he hopped again, both feet landing this time.
the motion felt strange in his legs.
there was a small warmth in his cheeks.
he moved through the rest of the numbers, his shoes smudging the pale lines.