The word texture derives from the latin word for structure or network. It has roots in the verb ‘to weave’ or the noun ‘web’. Thus, it is not simply the feel of an object beneath your fingertips, weaving itself through the sensory receptors comprising your hands. Texture is not simply the finished product as the word at face value would have you believe, it is all the components of its being. It is the design, the material, and the way in which it was constructed.

In saying so, I hope you bear with me as I ponder the varying textures that constitute our world. I find it easier to contemplate the world than it is to examine myself. For example, the pine cones scattered across the splintered ground contain a three dimensional world comprised of nearly two dimensional plains, more similar to flowers than pine needles, their own kin. Mushrooms, on the other hand, feel and taste of the soil, their womb. They are smooth as dirt trapped in your fingernails and infused with the gentle darkness of the earth.

I wonder about the texture of light, as well. It is too infinitesimal to be tangible to our fragile humanness, but pervasive nonetheless. And what of the texture of people, of our networks and webs? What of the way we are woven into each other time and time again?

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