Cool Air

[greenstorm]

It is nothing but joy to go about in the cool air, wrapped in softness and warmth like a shield between myself and the bearable touch of cool air, cradled by yarn and skillful knitting or protected by a full belly of warm chili from the shivers that might otherwise assault me. It is nothing but joy to lie under the thick heaviness of the blanket and feel the cool air against my face, not cold, but giving a reason to take shelter in warmth, and when I wake to understand my clothes against my skin: warm wrappings that pour heat out at the throat and wrists in exchange for the caress of the cool air.