Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

After Spending the Morning Baking Bread

156 After Spending the Morning Baking Bread Our cat lies across the stove’s front burners, right leg hanging over the oven door. He is looking into the pantry where his bowl sits full on the counter. His smaller dish, the one for his splash of cream, sits empty. Say yes to wanting to be this cat. Say yes to wanting to lie across the leftover warmth, letting it rise into your soft belly, spreading into every twitch of whisker, twist of fur and cell, through the Mobius strip of your bloodstream. You won’t know you will die. You won’t know the mice do not exist for you. If a lap is empty and warm, you will land on it, feel an unsteady hand along your back, fingers scratching behind your ear. You will purr. ...