“And how far the word desire goes!” (Bachelard 83)
Desire is an unplanned path – unsure of where it leads, but in no way directionless. It travels far – sometimes hasty, sometimes lingering. It stays close to the ground, and yet, in such simple motions, finds the liberty of flight. Perhaps it is the ground itself that lifts into the air. The path finds its orientation not by a compass rose or a northern star, but by the bending of a blade of grass in the breeze. In each turn, there is the wild intention of wandering feet – feet who will follow the same way over and over again without ever knowing why.