A morose fog that penetrates fabric and abets a churlish wind in making the temperature feel several degrees colder than the sufficiently low temperature of 34 degrees Fahrenheit.
Same to you, January.
Keenly aware of my ankle-bones under their thin covering of skin and socks, I regret my ill-judgment in wearing shoes rather than the tall boots which I judged insufficiently comfortable for this afternoon.
Yet this is the weather to make me most willing to stay indoors arranging ideas to share with my hundred students tomorrow, the weather to make me relish each sip of hot tea from a cup as gray as the fog.
This is the weather that makes me remember my delight in words: their colors and shapes and their power to let you in to my experience.
They let you deeper in than an image or a video can, forcing you to process and produce my experience for yourself. You have to be an active participant, if only at a subconscious level, rather than a passive recipient of sound and images.
I can’t show you, in a photo, the aching cold in my ankle bones or warmth and itch of the scarf into which I cuddle my chin, even now, sitting indoors.
But now you have them.
Though cold, I am content.
©2015 by Stacy Nott