Movement, for me, is a form of sacred (sacral - rooted) communion with the world where the edges of personal experience blur with (an) Other(s). I’m not moving so much as being moved by place and peoples. Tree's presence in-forms my shape - from the smells that subtly arouse memory to the oxygen sourced by a collaboration between my lungs and atmospheric pressure. From the contours of the ground underfoot articulating my muscles in distinct ways to the branches sweeping low,