My life is curving … bending across the surface of the Earth as Belgium becomes my home.

I’m at home within the gracious dance as we spin with our arms held wide.  The corners of life are being shaved away, leaving just ovals.

My heart trills when a curve shows itself to me.  Close to home, a tram is sensed only by its bell … and then it sweeps past me.

I remember being on my bike and breathing into the downhill that zooms to the left, the force pushing me outwards as my body holds the balance.

The cobblestones on the Vrijdagmatkt have an ancient story to tell, laid by hand so many years ago.  There is a centre here, and a radiation.

In the morning light the pointed gables of the Baudelostraat join in the roundness.  Some wandering being says “Let’s go the long way and see what’s there.”

I stood outside this restaurant today with the owner.  Friday’s grand opening shone in her eyes. The metal rolls and the limp branches told me this could be another home.

It’s quiet here in the curving

Can you hear the music?

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