What is the quality of ones breath?
And how much can be devised from it?
Slow and deep can denote a peace and calm, or a barely controlled anger.
Quick and shallow can result from fear, or that most pleasurable of bodily enterprises.
There is the last breath of a loved one dying.
The breath of God.
The whip of a bus passing too close by or the wind on the prairie raging forth unchallenged or the lover blowing a lost strand of hair from your face or the cooling of you first cup of coffee for the day
long short, shallow deep
It is the great repetition. A never ending cycle, that is until its complete end. The end above all ends.
Until then we will continue, whistling through our noses, drinking in cool mountain breezes, gasping at the finish line, brushing our teeth furiously and sucking on mints, so as not to offend anyone.
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