I kneeled down and touched the ground. The dust and small stone filled the gap between my fingers. I pressed against the ground, feeling its solidity, before I grabbed it and scrapped it onto my body. Getting dusty, getting gray, as the dust was in my hair, on my face, in my lungs. I felt bound to a ground I did not belong to, forced to walk it surface, to walk through it. A burden I had chosen, a burden I must take. Walking for home, walking away from home. One day I might draw a circle and look at the horizon, where the dust from my footprint is not erasing my trace.
-Mads Floor Andersen
I grabbed dust from the ground and poured it into the wind, into my face, making contact with the surface beneath me. Trying to connect to an unfamiliar place, to feel the sun in my eyes and heat against my skin. To feel the shape of my body in the cloud of dust. Breathing to stay calm, to keep myself awake – to keep my body solid and strong. This is the only place I have and to sing is the only home I can make. With the rhythm in my feet and music in my hands, I sing from my body and breath in the dust – a painful song between earth and sun