Softness is the look in Pluto’s eyes. The tuft on his head. The whoosh of his breath as he laid his head on my lap.
Softness is earth piling on him.
Softness is the goodbye I whispered to my soul friend in October.
Softness is the whisper of a heart as I lay listening to it shatter in the dark in June.
Softness is the tread of feet on the steps, gentle and aching, the soft feel of age on my Dad’s feet.
Softness is the touch of all the flowers I kissed.
Softness is a hug from one I cared for as I lay in the night.
Softness is the sky shooting stars on a cloudless night in Nachikuppam.
Softness is the gaze in the Buddha’s eyes.
Softness is the feeling I lost. Softness is the feeling I saw in a 1,000 forms, in a million faces, in the gestures of love, in the despair of hatred. Softness was the dandelion’s floating dance as I watched the rain caress my face and I looked at the world in awe. Softness is life. Alive.