Hati Hati.

It’s funny.
There’s a sliver of glass wedged in the ball of my foot,
But that’s not why I’m upset.
Physical restrictions have rarely prevented me from moving forwards.
Touching wood, I steady my gaze.
I wipe the windows to my world, the glass that is nowadays so easily shattered.
Even paradise has its monsoon, and today has been dense.

A mother calls out to her son over the squawking, cooing, twittering and ticking sounds of this Indonesian afternoon,
The French words as alien to me as banana leaves and outdoor showers.
A weekend of waning energy, one 6am sunrise from missing it entirely.
A break. A rest.
A language barrier higher than the volcano summitted just last week.

“Hati-hati” – Watch your heart.
Wait.

All in good time.

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