Meta Me
I have a secret — I am not who I say I am…
(A love letter to my body…)
A murder of crows takes flight into the morning sky, as the new day unpacks itself.
Me, like a bear, stumble from my slumber.
Rubbing my eyes, I let the dog out.
Barefoot, I step out with her. I am instantly engulfed by the warm morning.
Woodsmoke! my senses inform me.
It’s the remnants of yesterday’s fire still wafting in the breeze.
The body breathes deeply. It is happy; grateful to be alive, and full of joy for the new air. It feels good after a long night’s sleep.
It sits now, feeling the sun on its face. With a low smile, it watches Multiflora roses in the tree line nodding with the breeze in unison.
Illuminated by the bright sun, the body looks up and sees its own reflection in the glass door. It is startled by the wizard-like, white-haired creature staring back!
My God! How old it is becoming!
This body has served me well all these years. This is a splendid, sublime machine.
Left to its own devices, it will seek to self-normalize most aches and pains, and tries its best to give me freedom from all but the most egregious of them.
