Stretches with Oats

For many, many mornings I have cooked a little pot of steel-cut oats, and you would think I would be quite adept, automatic even, at this simple task by now – *#?@! – there it goes again!! A bubble tower of oaty starches gleefully gelatinizing toward heaven, blossoming into all their gluey glory, which will cling like wallpaper paste to crevasses I didn’t even know existed in the circular lines of this poor little lid and spitting down the sides to leave trails of crisping glue, to spark among blue flames. 

So more and more I must tend the little pot, focusing my morning stretches here at stoveside, less distracted by the full dish rack, the renewal notice unsigned on the table, the quieted washing machine ready to be emptied – yes, even the November light in late golds through oaks.

Here, I shall share out with the process of disrupted hydrogen bonds my slowly growing dance of body: past 40 and just now learning about fascia, just now finding that the whole body is willing to join the pull of trapezius, just now feeling the way breath
    eyes
          soles
               heart
     take Exercise 11.2 off the page, out of diagram, into conversation
     with the world that I am becoming