I don’t know if being born in January has anything to do with it, but nine times out of ten I love the cold. Today is not a “love” day, but it’s not a “hate” day either. All I know for sure is its 45 degrees and I’m out on the front porch. Our slightly jacketed 6 year old is down on the sidewalk playing with chalk and doing cartwheels.
Careful please, remember you hurt your ankle the other day.
The stink of our neighbors cigar lingers in the air. I don’t dislike it, it reminds me of my summer days at Uncle Wally’s house when I was a kid. Endless laughter, games of pool, AOL instant messenger on the Dell desktop, cousins of varying arcs of relation popping in and out, and the wafting stink of cigars inside and out.
The chill breeze is light but I’m in shorts, so I don’t miss it. I like the cold today, not love, but 24/7/365 I’d rather be freezing my ass off than sweating my balls off. It’s equally true that I love the beach, I’d rather be there than anywhere. But if we’re being picky (and I guess I am in this moment) I’ll take a day on the beach right after a rain, when it’s 60 degrees and the ocean feels like its -20.
Hood up on my sweatshirt, nose red, feet in the waves.
Close my eyes and listen.
Not another soul within a football field’s distance, ‘cept the birds.
Waves come in and out with my breathing.
The ocean kisses my ankles like a past lover, and maybe she is. My soul feels a connection here I can’t deny, that feeling of home that you can’t quite put your finger on why.
If it’s true that we can feel things from our past lives, I guess this is one of those.