My cloak.

This morning I greeted a light rain and a wind whipped atmosphere. Freshness dripped down on those water globules and I put on my black as night cloak.

My alpha 60, angora and wool felt cloak, a piece of clothing that was hunted down amongst the coats of this world and secured as my own for relatively little cost. Why the clothing fuss… I figured I needed an extra special outer shell a buffer between my small body and the rest of the world.

It had never been worn by another, unlike most of the thrifted pieces in my luggage. I was free to be it’s first lover, mixing my scent into its fibers. My love is in its features… its special hood and a collar which wraps in and around over or under, but when its not done in any special way, it is pointed and dramatic like something a vampire might wear when stalking pray in cold alleyways.

A large eye image adorns the inside as a label, which I enjoy… eyes in the back of your head are a helpful assessory... It's my cover and has my back.

And so shrouded in my night cloak I stole out of the door, like Cinderella, I dared not look back in case the clock struck 12 and the children had awoke with my shifty movements, to begin their usual morning song of mama mama. They would be fine, Urgyen was with them.

I sat on the rock cliffs over looking the sea and felt the elements of wind and water,  every atom including my own celebrated the morning, and in this moment of perfection I simply sounded ahh.

Life is good.