Thursday, February 25, 2016
Reflection on 60 degrees in February
Spring? By Sara Codair Toes sink into cool muck while the birds welcome the warmth with their song. The ice is almost gone. The breeze raises goose bumps on my bare arms, but that is not the point. The point is that they are bare. The cat was out with me, but the noise of people waking from winter hibernation chased him inside, back to his fluffy warm perch by the window where a layer of glass keeps him safe from big wide world and all its scary cliché’s. I want to go run, but I’ve already showered and I need to go to work soon. I want to dip my toes in the ocean, feel the col salt numb them to the bone and let the sand scrape away layers of dead skin while the salt heals the places where my nails dug to deep while trying to remove that dead skin in the bathroom. I want to see the king fisher and the duck, but not the swan, because lets face it, he is pretty scary with his flesh tearing beak and greedy stomach. I have two days left of being 30 - 3, then I will be 30 – 2. I’ll only be two years away from that three zero number that means I can’t run from adulthood any longer because I’m way into it an getting close to old. Its not spring, but it feels like it, and feels like it is enough to shake the clouds from my brain and make my eyes open wide. It’s enough to make my body feel light to dance across the soggy earth. It’s enough to give me hope.