Shiver

I'm ready for summer. I'm ready for heat, sunshine, flowers and camping. The bone cold chill of winter has left its mark and every time I gaze out my window I see the brown, arthritic fingers of the quaking aspen rocking gently in the arctic breeze.

Gray clouds hide the sun and block its warmth. Even on days when weak rays manage to shine through, I am deceived until I step from my door. Icy wind slithers into my coat and around my neck. I turn around and run back inside, hoping a heat vent can reverse the damage.

My mood sinks, I grumble and growl like an ornery mama bear awakened from her slumber too early. I snuggle back under the covers knowing I cannot stay there, knowing my cubs are up and about, opening and closing the front door, letting in the cold air.

They love the snow, the drifts, the play. They love the flakes that stick to their eyelashes. When did I become so old, so unfazed by winter's beauty? I sigh, trying to remember the joy of winter and childhood. A few memories slip through the cracks, but not enough to make me want to go outside.

I shiver and fill the bathtub. A good book and steaming water will improve my mood.

Ah . . . nirvana.