The whole frame is dyed orange. Across the river four cranes stand as thin lines, and beneath them the trees become a black band wrapped around the water's edge. The river is breaking the light into pieces and scattering it, ripple by ripple.
As the sun passes between the front and rear wheels, the spokes remain only as silhouettes, and the person in the red T-shirt sits half on the saddle with one foot resting on a pedal. On the ground, a bicycle marking painted in white lies faintly.
In front of a photograph like this, the body reacts first, oddly enough. The shoulders drop a little. Like the knee of someone who no longer has a reason to press the pedal all the way down, the force that was loaded onto the sole slips away. The eyes shift their focus toward the water's light scattered far off, and lose track of nearby things for a moment.
It is closer to the sense that it is all right to forget arrival for a while than to the sense that there is no need to hurry.
There is one thing worth trying while seated as you are. Breathe in but stop before the lungs are full, drop the shoulders once in that state, then let it out slowly. Like a pedal turned only halfway, if you release the breath at the halfway point, the rest flows out on its own.
Three times is enough, and it does not take three minutes. Not straining to breathe long suits this exercise better.
The same thing could be carried over to washing dishes. While scrubbing one bowl, cut the force in the wrist by half, and just note what state the jaw is in at that moment. It may be hard to notice, buried under the sound of water, but whether the jaw is clenched or open still reports more honestly than the hand does.
There is no need to check what improves. Just leave the observing behind.
The person in the photograph has not set off yet, and the sun is dropping a little lower over the water.
