A Gift of a Day
The sun came out. The temperature went-up. The snow began to melt. The puddles grew larger and deeper. Icicles melted. All is good; however, before I sound too elated I must deal with reality. Melting piles of snow that resemble small mountains or mesas—depending on the plow driver or the inclination of the shoveler—need time to reveal what is on the bottom.
Today I walked through puddles with my waterproof boots, splashed a bit when I erred on the depth of the water, and forgot that water dripping off roofs or awnings is cold.
I sat and read in my car at Starbucks because the sun lit me up and I felt my bones warming. First, I threw my coat in the backseat and then I added a vest. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself in short sleeves.
Then I made a mistake—I listened to the news and the weather report. Tomorrow the sun will vie with rain and next week the cold is back and snow has not made its last appearance.
But this morning the sun and higher temperatures reminded me that everything is cyclical. During the dog days of summer I'll probably complain about the heat and humidity, but for now I'm grateful for this day—drops, puddles, mounds and all.
Today I walked through puddles with my waterproof boots, splashed a bit when I erred on the depth of the water, and forgot that water dripping off roofs or awnings is cold.
I sat and read in my car at Starbucks because the sun lit me up and I felt my bones warming. First, I threw my coat in the backseat and then I added a vest. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself in short sleeves.
Then I made a mistake—I listened to the news and the weather report. Tomorrow the sun will vie with rain and next week the cold is back and snow has not made its last appearance.
But this morning the sun and higher temperatures reminded me that everything is cyclical. During the dog days of summer I'll probably complain about the heat and humidity, but for now I'm grateful for this day—drops, puddles, mounds and all.
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