I am here in this place where I belong. How do I know this? The hands within my heart are clapping. And it is raining in a season of drought. I heard in the shop where I buy "socks made in America" that the dry earth is 5 feet deep but now it is raining and all rejoice. While here I hope to tie up some lose ends on the poems about difficult experiences as well as to begin a new crop based on what I see right now. I am reading The Journey from the Center to the Page by Jeff Davis and it is perfect for this time and in tune with "a life found at the center of our authentic selves." The practice of Yoga is between the lines and on the pages of this text on learning how to incorporate the asanas of Yoga into writing practice.