“I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.”

“My car rides smooth like I’m driving a cloud. If I park it at your house, I may get rainwater on your living room carpet.”

“I opened the door and stepped down onto something squishy. It was moss, velvety smooth, creating uneven hills of emerald green across the floor of the laundry. I slipped off my silver ballet flats, and my feet sank into the floor”

“My steps were muffled. It was quiet, so quiet that I felt as if I did not walk but instead crawled in silence. The snow covered everthing and I walked above cotton, on silent carpets, on beach sand. Softness is temporary and deceiving. It gently receives you and gently expels you.”

“Someone had cleared that hillside once to make an orchard that had fallen into ruin and was now only twisted silver branches and split trunks. I sat there and continued to watch the sky as, out of nowhere, great solid-looking clouds built hot stacks and cotton cones. I was sixteen years old.”

“Dropping my head I stare at the carpet, counting to four, waiting.It takes nine long seconds for her to find the courage to crawl around the couch, halting on all fours to stare at my feet, never once looking higher than my knees.”