Opening the door and stepping outside,
the chill air splashes my face with reality.
I walk down the street, resolute
towards those doors that I know
are always open.
This gathering of the wanderers
will be beautiful, but not dramatic.
The otherworldly is familiar to us,
and we will be at home,
even as our selves float away.
I’m in love with the morning walk.
I don’t really know why I’m going
on this particularly arbitrary December day,
but I do know exactly what’s there,
and somehow I don’t mind the cold.
