It was so cold. Like every day. Grey and cold and if you turned the wrong way, a vicious slash would slap you across the face. But she went out without a hat because it was now April. It was her first year in Berlin. So many things here were a first. The roommates. The language. The change in her career. But she was fine with it all, nomadic and adapting. The only thing that rankled was the lack of a man. The cold weather was bringing it on, this need for a warm body to press up and into. She was exploring streets. She’d heard of a café and found it quite near to where she liked to go. It was small and the coffee was as good as they’d said. She sat facing the wall near the door, reading. Two women and a man entered. One woman was older, perhaps her age. The other, young, and the man was probably hers. He was lovely and they spoke French. She observed, as she does, rating his beauty over her coffee and book. He didn’t appear to notice. The c
heavy... she weighs something yet floats buoyed by the water swimming she quests.. moving around rocks and carried by currents at times she rests unbothered on the ocean floor as fish scurry by, busy she loves the manta rays the octopi the bigger breeds... they go on their way in a certain rhythm balanced by their arms, wings... these appendages that make them as amphibious as she even when they don't arrive on shore on the sand out of water she is not as convinced... she feels vulnerable more apt to pull her head into her shell and wait until the tide of voluntude pulls her back in to her element