Until now, as I see a small patch of blue emerging from the clouds outside my window, the sky today has been shrouded in a dense gray fluff. It almost feels like a shawl, so low-hanging it appears. My thermometer registers a temperature in the mid-40s but that relatively warm read for this time of year belies how bone chilled I’ve felt all day. I can’t seem to wake up, don’t really want to; I’d much prefer to burrow in a quiet cocoon of warmth, hunkering down until the sun shines again. Hourly I’ve struggled to really warm up, whether during a brisk walk with Oliver and Percy or wrapped in a thick sweater and furry socks. Even the kitten seems slow. He’s had moments of playful whimsy but, by and large, seems as sapped as I do by the funereal atmosphere outside. Waking at times to languidly bathe another paw, he soon returns to his peaceful slumber by my feet, looking at me with confusion when I move as if to say, “what’s the point.”
The trees look perfectly rigid; if they could, they might worry that swaying would only create a breeze of sorts which would surely enhance the chill. The earth seems impermeable, the concrete sidewalks even harder than usual, if that’s possible. My computer is, inexplicably, struggling to open the most basic of pages. I don’t really understand wifi- mustn't there be a frozen wire somewhere along the way, slowing the connection to the most glacial of trickles?
It’s definitely one of those days in which I'll later consider lighting a fire if I have enough wood in the firebox; I’m certainly not going outside to fetch more, and as T is out of town, I can't bat my eyes at him to do so. A goblet of hearty red wine and my new New York Magazine crossword sound like the perfect accompaniments and the makings for a wonderful evening for one. I hope the babysitter I'm so fortunate to have right now is feeling the vibes of gratitude I'm sending her way.