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I caught a nasty cough this week and with each cough it felt like a jagged spike of glass was being twisted into the center of my chest, dead center, right where I live. A grim reminder of my mortality!
The other day I cycled crosstown in freezing temperatures and had caught a draught down my coat collar. It wasn't too uncomfortable so I let it be. Eventually I couldn't tell whether the draught of cold air was from my collar or whether I was breathing it into the lungs. I think that like a flash fire the draught of freezing air worked wonders on my cough. It's still there, but the jagged spike of glass is gone.
I wonder then, that my last breath might linger as a memory of fire. Life itself, the gift from Prometheus, will one day burn out and be no more. An existence without body heat, warmth, the fire of life, although inevitable in all probability is to me virtually unimaginable.
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