Behind the dried leaves, fallen logs, broken light; back running, hiding, escape. Far from the dam, off the pack. I encounter in the quiet of my den, with no drafts, no irregular footprints dislocated. From bare walls, floor and ceiling. In the middle now. In the center of the great hall, faint, strong, out of time. Only this area of contention that music retains built and shy presence of my body that designs subtle elegance. I play to be another and also play to invent an image, to shake and freeze myself. Fast, slow, up, on the ground. Bouncing. Amplifying. I take this place as mine, I invade it, my first essence. Here I’m not looking for anything, here I have no questions, no doubts or fears. Here in the great hall, without beginning or end, far from possible. This is my possible the rest of my steps, details, the nakedness of the small, the detachment from the rush. Just image, a vision that unfolds, shrinking, which is diluted in that sound, not to alter my breathing, to obey my impulses. In my den. In my non-place. I feel fragile and invincible.