It
is Winter, and the cold has set in; still, frigid, indifferent. The
air is white, and the ground is hard beneath the soles of my red
wellies when I venture outside. The once swirling cocktail of Summery
colour has evaporated. . .now the brilliance of the evergreens and
the lately defoliating maple is precious and spare; heaven against
the pale. It is all delicious. When I sit at my desk, I think to open
the window in front of me; to feel the icy stillness on my face; to
let it be, and work in front of that glory for an hour or so.
Sometimes I do. Then I freeze, and my nose goes shiny and pink. My
breath gets warmer as I get colder. I will shut the window then and
revel in the knowledge that I'm sealed behind a thin, transparent,
warming sheet of glass, safe from a shivery, cutting landscape. I
love to experience the stinging slap of sharp air; to be involved in
the majesty for a short while. But I love more to view its lovely
intensity from a distance; retreated; safe in the embrace of a thick
quilt, holding a mug of tea, perhaps reading a book or letting my
snug surroundings lull me to sleep with their soporific comfort.
1 comment:
Oh my wordiness...where do you even come from?
You amazing, writing-crazy, talented you! :)
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