How many heroes or villains have you encountered in books, comics, or films who couldn't feel pain? Ever read a story with a character who is cursed with an odd hunger they must satisfy to retain their sanity? Unique or unconventional senses, attributes, or neurobiological mechanisms can punch-up an already, curiously assembled character. Readers and writers of sci-fi and fantasy know this well. But when starting from scratch, or seeking to craft something distinctive, one might view the expanse of published literature and feel like it's all been done before. Well, maybe so.
Or, maybe the big, wide world is hugely bored. All the more reason to take up character building, conduct a few deep dives into all the ways animal biology is fantastic (and fantastically weird), and push and pull each never-ending query toward its nearest (or farthest) logical (or illogical) conclusion.
➔ "If you start from the wrong construction of the phenomena, then you might produce a very clever piece of philosophy, but it will be worthless because it's not actually getting to grips with how things really are."
(Barry C. Smith, Director, Centre for the Study of the Senses, Univ. of London, as quoted in The Irish Times)
This research article explores 15 unique methods of sensory awareness, some of their related pathologies, and other curious traits or manifestations.
Agency
Auditory Hallucinations
Chemoreceptors
Effort
Electroreception
Equilibrioception
Exoskeletons
Homeostasis
Itch
Magnetoreception
Pain
Polarized Vision
Proprioception
Spinal Reflexes
Thermoception
Some of these "senses" are largely cerebral (sense of agency), others are more instinctive (reflexive senses) or intuitive (sense of effort), while yet others are evolutionary survival mechanisms (sensing another animal's heartbeat). Others are extraordinarily combinative (sense of balance). Many of these senses and sensory response faculties overlap (e.g., magnetoreception and polarized light).
❯❯ Agency
The sense of knowing/understanding one's ability to act on one's own accord. Pop psychology on mindfulness will frame this as "self-advocacy" or of "taking control of one's life," but such views don't provide a fully nuanced perspective. Instead, consider how studied social psychologists may frame a sense of agency as a sense of ownership-accountability over the mind and the body, but monitored and influenced by the variables, constraints, and controversies that manifest in one's environment, real or perceived. In this context, agency represents voluntary control over one's thoughts and actions to reach a desired, experiential state. An important caveat, however, rests behind the descriptors "perceived" and "desired"; agency can also be dangerously misleading, as "priming thoughts" about forthcoming events often "foster [an] illusory sense of agency" over said actions or events, notes an article in Frontiers in Psychology. A sense of agency is affirmational, yes, but it can also make one delusional.
In storytelling, agency regards characters and the level of control they exert over their engagement with the narrative reality. On the micro level, agency can also refer to a character's control, attempted control, or accountability concerning specific experiences. What environmental pressures would force a character to act in her self-interest? What dangers may be present, and how intense might they be, to force a character to work against her self-interest? Human history is rife with political machinations that have resulted in individuals who feared greater punishment for doing what was right than for their acquiescing to that which was wicked.
The differing theories of agency and cognitive causation are intensely layered. But for writers determined to validate this on the page, it may help to recall German philosopher Thomas Metzinger's self-model theory of subjectivity. Metzinger's theory holds that for one's self-representation to be fully experienced, it must be transparent, and a conscious self-representation can only be fully transparent if its internal properties are accessible.
❯❯ Auditory Hallucinations
Gothic literature is bursting with auditory hallucinations, whether from the sound or voice of an "other" that has gained a sense of autonomy, from a valorized voice meant to warn against danger, from a word of the defiant who ardently resists entrapment, or from a disturbed and narcissistic, disembodied entity.
An auditory hallucination can manifest as either incoherent sounds, echoic memories of traumatic experiences, or distinct voices. In humans, such hallucinations might arise or occur in various disorders (paracusis), as a result of post-traumatic stress, or in a patient with psychosis. Auditory hallucinations occur in the general population ranging from 5% to 28%, according research appearing in the journal World Psychiatry. Altered or damaged brain connectivity (cognitive processing) is the subject of much research. But in some cases, scientists suggest the origin stems from spontaneous activation of an individual's auditory network; that is, the spontaneous firing of sensory neurons in the absence of appropriately functioning inhibitory mechanisms (i.e., the limbic system). From the perspective of the individual, the source of the hallucination varies, as does the quality and intensity of said hallucination.
❯❯ Chemoreceptors
Sensory cells or organs that interact with chemicals in the blood; or more specifically, chemical controls for stimulating or inhibiting respiration. The amount of respiration depends on this neuronal network's response effectiveness. Peripheral chemoreceptors detect large changes in arterial blood oxygen, notably as it relates to the respiratory rate (allowing oxygen into the blood), blood flow (sensitivity to hypoxia), and cardiac output (supplying oxygen to the body). Central chemoreceptors detect changes in arterial carbon dioxide, notably concerning brain blood flow and metabolism, lung ventilation, and pH control (for optimal protein structure and function). A simple example would be to imagine a fantasy novel in which a character or adventurer is impervious (or not) to a gaseous poison that would inhibit proper breathing.
From a more practical standpoint, abnormally enhanced peripheral chemosensory inputs result in an overactivation of the sympathetic nervous system. According to the journal Biological Research, onsetting pathologies can include "hypertension, heart failure, obstructive sleep apnea, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (e.g., systemic inflammation, muscle dysfunction, and/or cachexia, which is when the body literally wastes away), and metabolic syndrome (e.g., sympathetic hyperactivity, impaired blood-pressure sensitivity)."
❯❯ Effort
Prior to undertaking an activity, physical or mental, most humans make an assessment of the energy required to successfully complete said effort. The "sense of effort" deemed necessary to effectively conduct a task can occur consciously or subconsciously, depending on one's familiarity with the event at hand. Cognitive fatigue, muscular fatigue, cost-benefit analyses, and more, all affect the perception of effort.
In physical/behavioral terms, some scientists call the sense of effort a "judgment of force," because of how an individual must accurately estimate the ratio of vigor to fatigue, assign various motor commands (intuitively or peripherally), and dynamically assess how sustained the effort must be (duration of force application). However, for individuals with disabilities, a sense of effort is tangibly skewed; practice doesn't always make perfect; local, social, and environmental factors influence one's quality of concentration, feelings of strain, and stimulus sensitivity (or insensitivity).
On a related note, in psychological terms, self-control is viewed as an aversive mechanism. That is to say, to consciously recognize the costs of exerting effort or to establish a credible perspective on what is or is not a rational level exertion given the scenario at hand. Too much effort? Not enough effort? The right amount of effort, but for the wrong reasons? Self-control will surely have something to say about that. Psychologists frequently debate the extent to which humans are evolutionarily hostile toward effort-contingent rewards (or, conversely, actively assign positive values to effort).
❯❯ Electroreception
At its broadest, electroreception concerns sensitivity to electrical fields. Applied narrowly, electroreception explains a predator's capacity to locate and monitor its prey based on the electrical signals produced by said prey's heartbeat or nerves. For a predator, this means locating one's prey no matter where it hides, as well as at extended distances, depending on the medium through which the electrical field passes (e.g., water, air). Sensors are often delicate (e.g., beneath the skin of a shark's head rest hundreds of highly conductive, ampullary electroreceptors). Fascinatingly, some weakly electric fish have evolved their signal frequencies away from the sensory range of their predators in an effort to increase environmental fitness. Other animals use electroreception for intraspecies communication, identifying mates, or sensing and evading unwanted visitors.
❯❯ Equilibrioception
The sense of balance. A generally unobtrusive physiological sense in humans and animals to prevent them from falling over as they move or stand. It entails a visual system, a vestibular system (spatial awareness via the inner ear apparatus), and proprioception ("kinesthesia," the sense that lets one perceive the location, movement, and action of various parts of the body), all working together to orient the individual to the surrounding environment (and gravity) to achieve balance.
Balance is a quintessentially multi-modal sense. To summarize an array of medical literature on the matter, balance occurs when (1) sensory input (vestibular, visual, proprioceptive) is processed by (2) the cerebellum (coordination and regulation), the cerebral cortex (higher-level thinking), and the brainstem (sorting of sensory information), and is then paired with (3) motor output reflexes, motor impulses, and postural adjustments.
Cognitive or physiological damage, spatial disorientation, illness, or malfunctioning sensory inputs all affect one's sense of balance and one's dependence on it. As cheekily noted in an editorial published in Behavioral Sciences, "It is said that (perfect) balance is the action of not moving."
❯❯ Exoskeletons
Not traditionally thought of as a unique sense, the exoskeleton, while protecting the body, also enhances one's capacity to interpret the surrounding environment. Some animal exoskeletons specialize in providing certain types of sensory enhancements (e.g., stress or pressure sensitivity), some exoskeletons possess environment-particular chemical compositions (e.g., to maintain osmotic balance or inhibit infection).
For writers who are interested in this clever brand of defense and offense curiously bundled into the same package, one recommends researching the differences between exoskeletons, ossified scale exteriors, and for extra credit: whatever the hell turtles are made of (hint: a combination of bony plates, fused scapula, and fused rib bones, blended over countless years of evolution).
❯❯ Homeostasis
To wit, it's "any process that living things use to actively maintain fairly stable conditions necessary for survival," per Scientific American. Achieving homeostasis relies on a convergence of multiple senses.
More critically, achieving homeostasis also means maintaining stability despite an array of conflicting stressors or environmental characteristics (which themselves influence hormone secretion and sensitivity). Hunger? Thirst? Sweat? Blood pressure? In terms of what the body requires, homeostasis concerns regulatory mechanisms or processes that enable one to dynamically maintain steady-state conditions. Anticipatory feedforward mechanisms initiate advantageous and predictive responses to keep the body healthy (or, healthy enough).
Never underestimate the value of negative feedback mechanisms (i.e., change or error signaling; disturbances of the "normal range" of critical feedback), and never overlook the danger of having a time lag in repairing otherwise natural or effective systems once they're damaged (i.e., disturbance or departure from equilibrium).
❯❯ Itch
As the journal Clinical & Experimental Allergy explains, "itch, or pruritus, can be defined as an unpleasant sensation that evokes the desire to scratch. [C]hronic itch originates from [..] [a] serious, unmet clinical need. Broadly, subtypes of chronic itch have been delineated and termed pruriceptive, neuropathic, neurogenic, and psychogenic itch."
Pruriceptive itch follows activation of primary nerve terminals, is inflammatory in nature, and notably follows, not precedes, skin damage. A neuropathic-type itch stems from nerve injury or nerve trauma. The neurogenic type is an itch resulting from central nervous system activation without necessarily activating the sensory nerve fibers (e.g., internal injury results in external, physiological reaction). A psychogenic-type itch comes from underlying mental illness (as with delirium). So, an itch can be caused by something seemingly minor (skin irritation), injurious (nerve trauma), deceptive (overactive nerves), or systemic (internal injury or disease).
❯❯ Magnetoreception
Most commonly, navigation by way of sensitivity to magnetic field intensity. In birds, for example, the optic nerves receive and process the magnetic intensity of their environment and transmit said information to the brain. Sensitivity to magnetic fields is frequently cited when discussing what the greater animal kingdom has but humanity does not (at least, at scale). Salmon, hatchling turtles, honeybees, whales, and bats are all said to use magnetoreception, for navigation or migration, to some extent.
Magnetic fields, unlike other sensory stimuli, pass completely unimpeded through biological tissue. By extension, magnetic-field sensitivity is more ambiguous and under-researched than other senses, as the process of transducing the magnetic stimulus into a cellular response lacks specificity. Three hypotheses dominate: (1) mechanically sensitive magnetoreceptors; (2) light-sensitive, chemical-based mechanisms; (3) an anatomical structure that would enable electromagnetic induction. These concepts are not mutually exclusive, according to research published in PLOS Biology, "animals may have evolved multiple mechanisms to detect different components of the (magnetic) field." Wild.
❯❯ Pain
Neural feedback permitting the central nervous system to detect (or avoid) potentially damaging stimuli, either passively or actively. This is nociception. A StatPearls article on PubMed notes: "Inactive nociceptors provide less-than-conscious nudges that strongly encourage the avoidance of potentially injurious and hazardous exposures." Now, if you want to get technical, then general pain and nociception are not identical; nociceptive pain is more acutely defined according to the locus of sensory activation (e.g., skin, tendons, joints, bones, muscles, internal organs). But to keep the conversation accessible, only a few additional notes remain.
Consider, for example, congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis, a rare nervous system disorder that begets a lack of sensitivity to noxious stimuli (resulting in recurring infections, cuts, bruises, and unintentional self-harm). Following such a diagnosis, "pain-sensing nerves in these patients are not properly connected in parts of brain that receive the pain messages," per the Iranian Journal of Pediatrics. With no cure for this hereditary disease, treatment regimens aim to control body temperature and prevent self-injury.
Consider also, allodynia, a different type of pain. In short, allodynia is chronic pain brought on by extreme sensitivity to touch. Actions or behaviors that are not typically considered painful can be excruciating. Pain and pain sensitivity are essential to survival, but what if one's body is unable to differentiate variations in pressure or temperature? The result is debilitating. In a medical environment, reducing such pain is extraordinarily complex (e.g., nerve-block injections, surgery, opioids, lots of therapy).
❯❯ Polarized Vision
Interestingly, animals with polarized vision can control the amount of light entering their eyes (or, attenuate the orientation at which light waves oscillate). Many animal species have developed superior navigational skills by basing their efforts on the sun's various positions. In other words, navigating the sky using time-dependent light patterns. Some animals use polarized vision (or polarized-light sensitivity) for "contrast enhancement, camouflage breaking, object recognition, and signal detection and discrimination," according to a research article published in Integrative and Comparative Biology.
When perceiving scattered or refracted light, environmental factors, atmospheric factors, perturbations in the medium (e.g., waves in water), medium quality, and pollution all affect an already highly sensitive manner of pattern discernment.
Human-world applications abound, from fancy sunglasses that enable one to increase visual clarity in high-glare environments to increasing the precision of advanced military technology. In one fantastic example, engineers at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign studied the mantis shrimp in extraordinary detail and developed a camera (i.e., a one-inch cube) that mimics the shrimp's use of polarized light as well as the shrimp's capacity to manipulate its detection of light intensity. According to Scientific American, the camera's dynamic emulation of these natural abilities could help cars detect hazards in ambiguous conditions, enable military drones to identify camouflaged or shadowed targets, and help surgeons perform more accurately. It's difficult to state how powerful this new technology is: The engineers' cube camera's light-detection ability was 10,000-times higher than today's commercial cameras (and yes, the tech is already available for cheap, mass production...).
❯❯ Proprioception
The sense that allows an individual to perceive or otherwise intuit the location, movement, and action of various parts of the body (i.e., a limb-position sense). Proprioception is also defined as the unconscious awareness of joint position, for how one absently-mindedly deliberates, identifies, and predicts willed movement. That is to say, knowing what one's body is doing, in the moment (not reactive or reflexive), without really thinking about it. This is all about movement detection and movement-detection thresholds.
Likening proprioception to kinesthesia, either broadly or narrowly, is common, but may not be entirely appropriate when one considers how dependent (and specific) proprioception is regarding sensory nerve endings and their correlation to the particular location, position, and orientation of specific joints, muscles, and limbs (e.g., athletic trainers often focus on soft tissues, such as muscles, tendons, and ligaments). Some researchers have gone so far as to detail the number and type of skin receptors pertinent to signaling limb position. To simplify, proprioception is imperative for precise and fluid movements.
Impairment doesn't simply mean reduced movement-sense and spatial-bodily awareness (kinesthesia), damaged receptors mean the body's physical pathway to communicate with the brain is broken or askew. For example, imprecise sensory interpretation as a result of muscle vibration (e.g., antagonistic conditioning, muscle fatigue) may encourage receptors to inform the brain of the illusion of limb movement or of limb displacement.
❯❯ Spinal Reflexes
Also not considered among the traditional senses, reflexes are important and effective components of sensory stimulus-reaction complexes. Reflexes are involuntary or unintentional (uncontrolled). Each type of reflex response is initiated by sensory stimuli relayed from any of the other major senses. Most importantly, the stimulus itself excites specialized sensory receptors that respond unambiguously to a certain type, quality, or intensity of stimulation.
Interestingly, reflexive actions receive their signals from the spinal cord. This makes them considerably faster than one's normal reactions because they bypass the traditional neural pathway (the brain). Not to say the brain is uninvolved. The brain continuously builds, adapts, and influences spinal circuitry, in both short- and long-term development, and many spinal reflexes operate simultaneously as a result. An overview of the main types of spinal reflexes will include: stretch reflex (muscle contraction), crossed-extensor reflex (opposite limb compensating for loss of support), withdrawal reflex (nociceptive reflex, protecting the body from pain), and autogenic inhibition reflex (negative feedback mechanism to control muscle tension).
"The spinal cord is the simplest and most technically accessible part of the mammalian [central nervous system]. Thus, spinal cord reflexes, the brain's influence over them, and the spinal cord plasticity this influence produces provide the basis of a powerful experimental protocol for studying the mechanisms and substrates of learning." (Encyclopedia of Neuroscience)
❯❯ Thermoception
The brain's recognition and the body's ability to register changes in temperature. Or, put more simply, sensitivity to heat flux and temperature intensity. Animals possess a diversity of temperature sensitivity mechanisms. All thermosensors have activation thresholds and are moderated by various inflammatory mediators (e.g., some proteins are intrinsically heat-sensitive, others are cold-sensitive).
What does this mean? It means thermoception is fundamental to animal survival, as temperature homeostasis is essential to comfort and reproduction. It also means the human body cannot actually determine the absolute temperature of its environment; it must instead regulate its own temperature relative to that of its immediate surroundings.
Mutated or damaged proteins (as with inflamed or damaged tissue), associated with temperature detection, can result in heat hyperalgesia (pathological sensitivity to heat), in which one's heat-activation thresholds are so markedly low that otherwise pleasant and warm temperatures can be very painful.
It’s cold outside. The pandemic is getting worse. It’s time to look inward with the help of movement practices that create healthy bodies and minds.
By Gia Kourlas
Published Jan. 22, 2021Updated Jan. 23, 2021
Bruce Lee talked about emptying the mind in order to become formless and shapeless like water, which “can flow or it can crash,” he said. “Be water, my friend.”
The pandemic has made us shift our perspectives in so many ways, but Lee’s guidance rings true: We need to be water. And we need to move. It heals. And if more people moved, they might just find their way to dance.
Dancers know that how you are in your body relates to how you are in your mind and how you move through the world. Most New Yorkers live in cramped quarters that now often double as workplaces, too. Our bodies are constricted. And though we aren’t back to a complete shutdown the way we were in March, as the pandemic drags on, it’s getting harder and harder to find moments of release and wonder.
Winter is not my greatest season. I mean it can be a struggle to stand. But when I least feel like moving is when I need it the most. It’s good to sweat. I run. Last spring, a friend who knows me well recommended a trainer, Erika Hearn, and she has saved my body and mind through her Instagram classes, which mix strength, Powerstrike kickboxing, resistance band-work and mobility. It’s a meticulous total package; plus, she moves with such dynamic ease that watching and mirroring her fluid execution of steps — including her occasional human moments of imperfection — in some small way fills the gap of not being able to see live dance. When she says “stay with me” it’s not only about completing a movement, it’s about having faith in movement.
Still, it’s hard to remain optimistic about much of anything at dusk. It’s too cold to roam the city; we’re basically stuck inside. But even our milder version of lockdown doesn’t have to feel as if we’re locked up. We can use movement as a way to look inward. Through stillness and slowing down, we can create a rich sense of space by moving our minds around our bodies. Slowing down can feel like freedom — and, for me, that’s a good antidote to dusk.
Somatic practice — named for “soma” or the living body — is a way to connect the mind and body that encourages internal attentiveness. “We’re talking about allowing the living body to inform behavior,” Martha Eddy, an esteemed somatic movement therapist, said. “But then how do you do that? It’s by using your proprioception” — the ability to feel the body in space — “and your kinesthetic awareness.”
Focusing on the navigation of space and becoming conscious of how you move, especially when outdoor ventures are limited, is unsettling and grounding, excruciating and exciting, but always transformative. It’s a trip you can take. “It’s a mind journey,” Eddy said. “And it’s a mind journey that’s real.”
During the pandemic, virtual training has opened up the somatic approach to the bigger world. Classes in the Feldenkrais Method and BodyMind Dancing are available at Movement Research at no cost. (The joke is that they’re priceless.) Eddy’s BodyMind Dancing, appropriate for any level or any body, is a delightful, curative way to spend a Monday night.
It’s fitting that a key somatic principle, Eddy said, is the idea of slowing down. “I call it slowing down to feel,” she said. “Related to that is going into the breath, and related to that is releasing tension. Sometimes I separate those two and sometimes I keep them together: releasing tension and breathing.”
There are levels, but slowing down to feel isn’t a static act: It’s about shifting to a more internal place. The hope is that you emerge from a somatic class and bring some of that awareness into your everyday life. I know I have. In a time when it seems we have little control, having agency over our bodies — and our internal world — is a kind of power. By engaging in a somatic experience, you come to realize that these practices are not just about creating flexible bodies, but flexible minds.
The Feldenkrais Method, created by Moshe Feldenkrais, does that and more with its system of exercises that zone in on skeletal function and self-awareness through movement. It’s slow, methodical and controlled. Sometimes the movements seem imperceptible. You are told to hold back, and you are also on your back a good deal. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Rebecca Davis, a Feldenkrais practitioner, broke it down: “You do a movement and you pay attention to how it feels,” she said. “You do something with the right side. You do that same action on the left side. I’ve tried to distill it to that I teach people how to pay attention, what to pay attention to and why it matters.”
In one class I took focusing on the feet and legs, Davis told us — repeatedly — to stay in a 5 percent zone of range and effort. This, it turned out, was impossible. It’s like my muscles were laughing at me. Attempting to do less is a hard, humbling act.
“When I say, ‘Now slowly tilt your legs to the right,’ what comes out of people is definitely not my idea of slow,” Davis said later. “We have to recalibrate pacing, timing because for this work in particular it’s the sensory details that we’re interested in. Once you slow down and start paying attention to yourself in a different way, that’s really where change can happen.”
Davis, who teaches at Movement Research (her next classes are in February) and has an online program, talks you through the physical instructions, which in turn develops a skill: You listen both to a voice and to your body. While executing small, detailed movements, she invites the release of the eyes, the jaw, the forehead — sites of parasitic effort, where parts of the body don’t need to work. It’s a way to quiet ourselves so the sensory details of our experience become clearer. It’s like relearning yourself from the inside out, and the breakthroughs are otherworldly.
“When your weight is not collapsing onto your spine, onto your skeleton — when you’re not falling onto yourself, when you figure out how to use your feet so that your weight is coming up and through, that feels so good,” Davis said. “You’re lighter. It takes less work to move.”
But it also takes work to remain still. Early in the pandemic, I found yin yoga, a practice focusing on passive poses, and Kassandra Reinhardt, who has been teaching on YouTube since 2014. She can ease the memory of any miserable day, and so can yin, which isn’t about stretching muscles, but relaxing into them in order to release ligaments, joints, bones and fascia. Poses are held for at least two minutes and usually longer.
Some of them feel good; others feel like death. “We’re slowly breaking down physical tension that we might have been carrying for years,” she said. “Maybe you just have it from the run that you did earlier that day, but maybe this is decades worth of tightness and tension that you’re now consciously releasing.”
It’s a process: You find your pose — and your edge within it — and breathe while remaining still. If all goes well, you melt lower and deeper; when class is over, it’s like you’ve shed a layer of skin.
Embracing stillness-oriented practices is important to Marie Janicek, a dancer turned personal trainer who hosts a podcast, “This Thing Called Movement,” that explores how movement impacts our lives. “It allows us to flesh out the true depth and subtlety and dimensionality that’s inherent in the movements we do day to day,” she said. “And then we have a greater ability to appreciate all the threads of what’s happening in our bodies, in our minds, in our sense of self. Not just when we’re actually moving, but then outside of that as well.”
As Eddy pointed out, even when we are seemingly still, there are physiological rhythms that occur in our bodies. “Which is our breath, which is our blood flow, which is our craniosacral rhythm, which is the cerebrospinal fluid around the nervous system,” she said.
For her, it’s an orchestra. “Sometimes it’s very, very quiet and sometimes one particular instrument is very dominant,” she said. “But no part disappears.”
You can access that dimension and richness in her classes, too. In a recent BodyMind Dancing session, we were swinging and swaying in whatever way we chose. She said, “Let the weight move into lightness.”
It was the sensation of moving heavy water — thick yet unbound — and suddenly being swept to shore by a wave. In my apartment. After class ended, Eddy asked if anyone wanted to share their experience. One woman, effusive and out of breath, popped onto my screen and said she had been working up until the time class started, but was determined to take it anyway. She went to a park. But she didn’t want to lie on the ground to perform the exercises.
“I found a tree!” she said.
Movement can do all sorts of things. On this night it brought the world a little closer together. “Thanks,” Eddy said, “for bringing the tree to us.”
