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WEATHERBEATEN
This work week is wringing me out like a washcloth, twisting just tight enough to make my shoulders cram up against the small bones where spine meets skull. It's been a week of breathless galloping through projects, and then galloping back and forth over my tracks, reined in by the wishes of others. Still, I'm satisfied. I'm getting things done, although I've had to say no twice to people, something I hate having to do. No, I'm sorry, I can't take your project although I know there isn't anyone else that you can ask, there isn't anyone else who can do it. I just don't have time. Saddening words for a people-pleaser to utter.

The weather has twisted up too, unsure it seems of just which way it wants to go, though it has no choice and nor do we, leashed to it like heeled hounds. The sun and the moon are vying to outshine one another, and though the moon isn't yet full, its waxing face, beaming silver in a clear black sky, is giving that old sun a run for his money. Sssh! Don't tell the moon his brightness is borrowed. Transparent, endless winter-blue skies are wasted when I'm stuck inside all day; thankfully tomorrow is a half-day and I'm hell-bent on getting out while the sun is still shining.

This time of year, when the sun is out, it seems as if the world is a great bell, struck and quivering. There's a music in the molecules of the air, set shimmering in the cold. It's a different song that winter sings, slower than the spring. More ponderous yet no less joyful, accompanied by stompy boots and the rasping soprano of ice scrapers on diamond-struck windows.

I shall take a book to bed. I shall fling another comforter across the counterpane and slide beneath to lie shivering until warmth fills the space and makes a bodyheat cocoon. Soon I shall consider wearing gloves as well, because my fingers stiffen and chill holding a book above the blanket's edge. But gloves make it hard to turn pages and I find my hands don't know the difference...if they hold still too long they chill from the inside out, circulation a faintly frozen memory. Anticipation warms me now, though. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, to the weekend (miraculously empty of plans), to the season of cold and snow song, to the time when the light of the winter sun is enough to keep me moving through the darkling days.

Clear and Cool Starlight Bright Birthday Wishes to vember!
 tired
mood: tired
music: Joan Armatrading—Willow


Comments

Lovely Lizerly writing, that.

I had an impulse Wednesday night to give you a quick shoulder massage. I should have acted on it.

I wouldn't have let you stop! :D

October 2019
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I can complain because rose bushes have thorns or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.

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