I’m watching a man breathe.
His hands float upwards, as if he were painting the air
&
Flap downwards, as if he were a calm angel
This isn’t just breath; it’s ritual.
It’s Kung Fu.
Not the kind you see in movies that disarms villains and defends the distressed.
This is dance, prayer.
He glides between stances now.
His body surrenders to ancient movements and enacts them.
The breath made visible; the breath made holy.
A Life of Wonder 
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