The cold, of course

The cold of course and the days that, like cheap cot­ton, shrink at the first sign of hard­ship. I love walk­ing when the morn­ing shines its fine light on us. I have my steps for myself, my soli­tary rhythm thus mark­ing this adult life which has dug so few furrows.

I like to silent­ly shell out the round­ness of my breath­ing. I often wan­der around. My thoughts, like yours, are often use­less, at least we will nev­er have the intel­li­gence to under­stand all the auto­mat­ed machin­ery that dri­ves us to dreams and whims.

The cold, of course. The cold and a feel­ing of stand­still, lone­li­ness, impos­si­bil­i­ties. My path may be pre­dictable even if noth­ing is writ­ten in the sky. My gaze is on the leaves that are begin­ning to die, I bend my spine. The road continues.