The green is itching to get out, I can feel it. And yet the snow remains and the cold envelopes like a hair shirt that we cannot shake. This season of ice has been painful and the roads have hurt so badly with the sores of empty asphalt and sometimes bottomless and they can devour a car or truck with one gulp.
So here we all sit watching out the window for that ride out of this cage of frigid life which holds us captive many moments of every year of our lives. Most January to Decembers hold winters that mystify and invigorate, but when they out stay their welcome a hate builds up inside and a need burns to move on and make the warmer world home.
But warm will turn to hot, humid and sticky like a wet shirt that won’t come off our hard breathing bodies. Even our breath on those days is hard to deal with as the tears of our bodies come in droves from our foreheads rather our now dry eyes.
Wishing away life to find that comfortable home can be fun in the imagination – but rarely is so in real life.
© Christi Broersma - 2009