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