What life feels like
If you’ve ever cut open a fresh kill on a brisk winter day, you know what life feels like. Warm your ungloved hands behind the kidneys as you lift to release the organs f rom the hollow that held so much so neatly inside. Slipperiness is just a gift, so you don’t remember the heavy iron smell in the rising steam. Life is simple, here one minute and gone another, an eye clouding as travel requires. Each last glance a pain, causing a tear to form if not run. This tear might be an ooze of a plant cut from its stem, a trickle of a glacier, the morning mist. Nothing is ever quite ready to die.