Coming to consciousness at precisely noon and it being difficult to register:
Oh, am I awake now? Am I waking on my own accord?
The woozy obliviousness being partly too strong for remaining one-half inside my dreams, which were pertinent to remember I know.
I should have written last night
as instead there I lay beckoning sleep with all of these follies and friendly frenzy flicking, arcing across the inner brow –
float-swimming as I used to do as a child, making rounds in my neighbor’s above ground pool
a tiny fishhumantank that made me frustrated and bored. my mind.
Coming to wake this morning slowly within my bed. The dryness of our place’s heat having fondled my sinuses for hours
The obvious pregnancy of snow waiting outside my third floor window.
An understandable threatening.
Something everybody’s waiting on and all sense
We quietly brace and release a sigh of awe as the first flakes fall, gentle
momentary reassurance and we trust in the beauty of that
before steeling against it and looking for ways it must ruin our day.
and we begin to trudge
When it is cold, Virginia, and the freeze whips your face, do you stand there to allow it? Nay, you move more briskly, increasing the pain and searching for shelter
Perhaps it is better to stand and grow accustomed to the cold so that you no longer need to escape it.
Depends on what the cold is standing in for, guess.
No. Always (at that moment) you should be letting the cold move in and through you, rather than about you. Accepting and embracing the cold and earning some of its power: enough that it can’t touch you any longer because its become a part of you. A requirement of feeling colder than most humans have ever felt in their life before accepting this.
Then you will never have to mind or fear being cold again.
You can just be.
V'Artichoke 