Sometimes people are slips of things: tall, narrow, shaped like willow grass. Their necks bear the weight of their heads, notably and arduously. Their cheeks are colored and ruddy, their eyes are barely there. Almost as though they are so immersed in what they’re doing that the action itself is carrying their capabilities of sight, much like breath carries you through yoga. This rings incontrovertibly true to me, in how we carry our essence, and in ways the human form becomes attached to its immediate landscape. Aneesha Rao