Feisty Weather

 'The world's feisty tonight,' said the woman with three chin hairs sprouting from a prize winning mole. She wasn't old. But she'd have no trouble finding age when the lights were out. It will perhaps come as no surprise that she was speaking to herself.

    'Ah, not quite as good as being frisky, but feisty, yes, feisty will do us.' She continued her internal dialogue on the outside.

    'And yet, frightening could do us better. Yes, frightening could indeed.' You guessed it; still monologuing.

    'But it's feisty. We dance when it's feisty.'

    'Do we now?'

    'Don't try to talk yourself out of it.'

    'Oh, alright then.'

    You might be thinking that she danced then. You'd be right. But it's not the kind of thing eyes want to see, written down or otherwise. It's enough to know that she liked herself well enough to carry a conversation, noted traditions due to weather patterns, and, of course, that when she dared herself fiercely enough, she danced.

    We should all be so lucky.

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