Shadow of Breath
It is a cold morning and I am walking. I pass and watch each and every person walk into the shadow of their own breath. But they are not occupied with such things as I am. I am thinking about breath and life and the listlessness of my own imagination. They are thinking about natural things like work and family or even how nice it feels to be new in an old place. Busses are passing by. Men both young and old are buzzing around on small motor scooters. Most wear helmets. And all of us, whether engaged into the same conversations with ourselves or with each other, are here apart of it, apart of this, being enwrapped by the cold of a new winter morning as life picks up speed and starts once again.