A hammock is strung between two rough-barked trees. The hemp cord has lost its color under long sunlight, and dust has settled into every knot. A green shade cloth behind it filters the afternoon light and drops a mottled shade all the way into the inside of the net.
Watching it, the shoulders come down a little. The body is trying out the curve of that loose net in advance. The eyes hold their focus on one knot for a long time and then let go, and the breath drops a hand's width further toward the belly.
In the mind that keeps putting off lying down during the day, there is a fear of looking lazy mixed in. The net hangs there knowing nothing of that fear, swaying all afternoon in the shape of no one lying in it.
It is enough to close the eyes for fifteen minutes while sitting in a chair. There is no need to fall asleep. Set an alarm and rest the hands on the knees, and the body will use that time on its own.
On days when the same fifteen minutes are hard, the short interval while the floor indicator changes is sometimes used instead. While the elevator door closes and the back rests against the wall, it is worth feeling out how far the stiffness at the back of the neck runs from the shoulders. Like a knot in the net, one spot may catch unusually hard, or nothing may catch at all. There is also a way of not trying to fix that sensation and leaving it as it is until the floor arrives.
The net stays hanging when evening comes, and it sways a little each time the wind passes.
