Ella Frances Sanders



It's strange, moving your body around the planet.

You can place yourself hundreds of thousands of miles away in a morning; gain or lose hours that you wouldn't know about otherwise, change the weather, change the people, change everything. We put our bodies in crowded cities, in the middle of nowhere, and everywhere in between, expecting them to adapt and settle and thrive.

Three days ago my soul was at altitude in the mountains, two days ago it was lying on the grass in the sun, and yesterday it was in a silent hotel room. It's something worth wondering about, because I think it's why we feel so empty sometimes. 

Here and there and now. 

Today we move and tear up time, and it's not always on our side. 

I was climbing the walls of your city alone, a book in one hand and my heart in the other, not sure how long I'd last as the afternoon sun licked the streets and I looked left and right. I've been struck but I'm not sure what by, but people looked happier there and for once I wasn't worried about tomorrow. They walked differently, weren't afraid to look into my eyes, didn't mind that I was needing to stop every few moments to breathe. The cyclist told me 'nice try, but how are you going to make this fit?' and of course I couldn't think of an answer.

I was there and now I'm home, dreaming of ways to see you in the sky.

The soul doesn't move so fast, and it can take a while for it to catch up with the reality of what has happened. For example, mine is still over a thousand miles away, and I'm still waiting for it to make its way back here.