I was actually capable of pulling my winter-worn self out of the door today for a walk. I should not be so horribly wimpy about the cold, howsomever I am. Today, though, was gloriously temperate.
It is good to walk, to move, to clear the flow of my mind that quickly stagnates when my body is too sedentary. I have done little of late that requires much movement. I sit and work on writing, on music, on support raising and read and watch Lost (which I have become far too addicted to of late) and forget that I have more than fingers and a brain, but a whole body.
I am looking forward to spring, more than I can even communicate. It is starting to feel like spring. I am even reminded that I have neighbors. People seem to have been carefully unbolting their doors, peering out from the chained crack and tasting the air. Then, one by one we are each cautiously ending our hibernation, or at least our quarantine, cautiously at first as if we are flexing our thawing muscles, but even in the course of a couple warmer days people start to become more reckless and kids are sent out to spin cartwheels on the lawn.
Yet it is only the end of January. We are getting there, but I realize the warmth is really only, at best, a short break from the cold and at worst a cruel joke. I've decided to accept it as a reprieve and merely linger as long as possible in the warming air.
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