In the studio it’s a steady thrum of the tabla over the stereo system:tha ki ta tha ki ta—gin natha ki ta tha ki ta—gin natha ki ta tha ki ta—gin na—dhagin na—dhagin na—dhaAnd then a relentlessly driving pace of chakkar, or one-count spins:tig da dig dig ek…do…teen…chaar…paanch…chhe…saath…And on and on…After an hour of this, I’m breathless. tha ki ta tha ki ta—gin naAfter weathering a long waitlist at the permitting office, our little collective of 15 homes was finally greenlit and built with reclaimed and organic material as part of a government-sponsored hyper-localization effort. tha ki ta tha ki ta—gin natha ki ta tha ki ta—gin naMy back hurts more often these days, and the asthma’s been back for nearly 20 years (one can’t blame my lungs—they put up a heroic fight against nearly half a century of summer wildfire smoke). tha ki ta tha ki ta—gin naI think of the descendants that follow, from whom I borrow this earth. And in the cabbage patch, loam between my toes,tha ki ta tha ki ta—gin na—dha.