Soft Crunch, Low StumbleIt has been pointed out to me that folks tend to live longer in warmer climates. There is some physiological science to back this up somewhat; there are difficulties to living in cold. The heart needs to work a little harder to warm the feet, the back gets a bit of stress from the handling of snow and self on slick walks. The tromp of a commute aches with both wind a beauty; the woos have been peeled back, the snow is soft, and the air tickles when I breathe too deep. I have socks and boots, and I am young yet, but the days end early and I am more attuned to feel them. I can feel them pulling.
Today upon return I battled the still air with the arsenal of the kitchen. I set the oven to make itself merry, an parked a sweet potato in there to sit. On the cutting board the knife lopped up white potato, turnip, onion, mushroom. Dressed in a bit of oil and salt all of these tumble into a roasting pan to take up station on the heat. I ate those in a bowl under a stiff sharp cheese, mopping up the remnants with a hunk of bread. I saved the sweet potato for after, skinned and gently pressed by the back of a fork, under a shake of nutmeg an a slowly spreading pat of butter. The kettle has kept me in good company this evening, the low warble a reminder that it is time to refill the cup, and maybe see about wandering outside to gather some sage and chase away the gremlins that keep tripping the automatic floodlight.
Winter is a good time for bunkering. The dim and the chill are an invitation to blankets and books, curls of steam in the mug, low lights and simple music, moments spent in no pursuit of anything in particular. In ways, this is not what I need right now. Regardless, it is what is, out there, while landscapes turned orange by the sodium lamps, small efforts to give cheer to the streets that empty when the sun falls. I could shake fists, climb into a canister to seek sunnier spots.
For now, though, I am still happy with the quiet, careful winter. For now, the repose is yet welcome.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Mail accepted for the bears in the basement. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.