Watching the sheer drapes plume from a slight breeze, she wraps herself up in her favorite blanket and ventures outside.  Cradling her cappuccino as if it were a newborn child, she lazily drapes her arms in contrast to such over the porch railing and gazes down below.

Her mind drifted.

She smiles slightly as the bare branches of a peach tree just beyond rattle softly keeping pace with the drapes and thinks to herself, “21 days, what a wonderful gift”.

Her mind then drifted once more and found her feeling the bitter air of a mid-western winter that smelled of cigarettes.  A mid-western winter left far behind in her past. She was 16 again.  She felt the slush on her feet that numbed her toes, she couldn’t wait to escape.

She lives in the moment.

The past frightens her; it threatened to ensnare her heart and hold on tightly when she wanted to keep moving.  She had to keep moving. But for 21 days she allowed herself to brush the outer rim of this space and linger there just a little.  She decided she was content for doing so.

She needed 21 days so she could write more, he must have known that.  Maybe he didn’t.

Day 22.

I am,
The Urban Mountaineer

The cold chases her hands as she quickens her stride, “keep moving” she says to herself “and you won’t feel the pain”.  It’s not the type of bitter cold you would curse, it’s a small price to pay to live where you can almost kiss the clouds.  She is happy, and despite the ornery bite of the wind the sun is far more persistent.  She tells herself the sun is hers and as she stands there in silent she says “thank you” softly but audibly nonetheless.

“Keep moving” she says before stopping once again for a brief moment so the warmth of her sun could gently cradle her face.

“Keep moving” she says…

The city is alive and not without grit.  This she knows; she’s in it, she feels it and without her consent she is a part of it.  It lingers by her side and stares at her as a cigarette dangles from the side of its mouth. She stares back to convey her resilience. She is waiting for a train.

The tracks bear witness of those who have also lingered in an unmeasurable past with cigarettes dangling from the sides of their mouths.

She’s not afraid, she empowers herself with a look in her eye that she shares with others who choose to connect.  Downloading the MP3 file that landed in her mail she resides in a moment she knows is hers and pretends the song was written for her.  She knows it wasn’t but doesn’t care.  With a deep breath she closes her eyes and listens to his song, commanding the city to briefly relinquish its grit.

“Keep moving” she says…

She is,
~ The Urban Mountaineer