It is 14 degrees Fahrenheit, and I am my own source of heat. .
In my black jacket bubble and dark hawkish leggings, I ooze and I seep a cavern of warmth, a contagion which catches my limbs and glistens off the moon.
The tip of my nose is ruddy and rosy and it doesn’t glow because of stagnation, quite the reserve: my nose is lit with the fire that circulates within me, propelled by my swinging arms, pumped by the bellows of my legs, by the pounding of my feet.
I dance and glide across cracks, across intersections, across potholes and alongside ballerina squirrels.
This is what they mean by sustainable living, I think. Forget the eco-friendly toilet paper and recycled laundry detergent.
This is what it means to be sustainable. Whereupon all I need is to be awake and swinging.
Peace and Blessings,