cold chill shivers up my jacket and I stop to clutch it tighter- the wind seeks
skin pares away the moisture and warmth
a life force seeking to take a bit I think but it wakes me up,
carries me higher in conciousness
is that more alive? it would seem so- but is a lowly paramecium less alive than
a leaping gymnast, a cavorting orangutan?
a bacterium less alive then a humpback whale? a fern
clinging to a rock less driven
than a baseball player taking one off the fence? I move along the sidewalk and
wonder at the cloud of bugs in January I saw
awakened by unseasonal warmth and wonder what became of them now that it is
frigid again.

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Index of new writing © 2002 Thomas Coleman

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