Ocean waves inhaled and exhaled for her as she moved from a forward fold into vinyasa. For Kali, these poses and their names did not matter; it was the cycle of breath and sweat that did. She was leaning into a balancing warrior when movement was felt and seen at the corner of her vision.
She kept her gaze steady as she moved from the fiercely elegant third warrior to a dancer's pose, hand reaching back for her foot while her standing leg remained rooted to the earth.
Yoga was still blooming in these lands, and the dark mother herself still felt vibrant, particularly since the 1960's.
She looked toward the man again. There was something wild and something curious and something fiery, and Kali was nothing if not confrontational. Though she stopped flowing through vinyasa, there was an undercurrent of energy, constant and dancing - the shakti she embodied.
"Namaste!" She called, to him or the gulls or the ocean or the air, but her dark eyes were on him and there was a haphazard little smile creeping along her lips. She leaned, grabbing the carafe. She stepped off the blue sheet; blackened, charred footprints marked where she'd stood.