Blistering hot shifts to warm reduces to chilly.
Slick becomes pokey to stubbly to silky down.
Upper lip sprouts blonde downiness, a few dark hairs to be plucked with a squeal and grimace.
Underarms that itch in the heat with an edge of stank lurking, become dark and coarse, then softer and silky. A new, soft smells emits a subtle calling a few days a month. Without explanation, I ask my best friend if I smell odd. She says I smell lovely so I don’t try to disguise the pheromones resting near my skin.
Pubis modus is no longer so pronounced – no longer trimmed tight, curls grow forth and fill the space betwixt my legs. The softness draws my hand to it and gently I toy the curls about my fingers as I read. There’s an absentminded playfulness in the sensuality of self-discovery.
Every time a breeze flits across longer skirts, against and through the fur on my legs, my body feels soothed. There is a power in being physically whole even if it’s something only I know.
As nature’s coat eases around my body, I embrace winter’s calling of simpler hours – a season for a more whole me.
After experiencing this completeness, why would I shear my coat when the heat returns?
I shear my coat for my comfort.
Winter encourages my body’s natural downy embrace. Summer begs for sleekness. Water, coconut oil, a balm for skin thought protected by the spf of a liquid screen. Heat melting my core from the outside in, ratio of the coolest fabrics against the greatest amount of bare skin, cloth worn dampened to cool. In deep heat, my body’s fur an extravagance of nature, I shear it and live closer to the sun.
Fur or fair, my body is my temple, to decorate as I see fit.
10 Dec 2018