Running through wings of flitting crabgrass, lime green in bright light. She lectures about fossil fuels and plastics. I say, “Humans will die out, and for a time the earth will remain fallow.”

She’s quiet now. Noticing shadows under cliffs, a place to lay my mat.

Feet sink into sand before I begin my practice. She’s there to teach me yoga. She knows more than I do, But I’m not sure I want to learn from her.

Bossa Nova glides from hidden speakers, muting her words.

I walk over sand dunes, stepping on glass, colored gems. Jobim sings about love.