I want to bottle up this October sunshine goodness and stash it under my bed.
Instead I stroll out for four repeats of Cat Power’s Manhattan.
I walk with the beat, face up to the sun, close my eyes, sing along.
Run zig-zag across the streets to stay in the warmth.
I smile, sigh with contentment, stretch out in this skin and these bones.
For a while, I forget that Cherokee Street is not my own private living room.