On Cold Feet

Winter is coming, but you wouldn't know it from the sweat dripping down my back as I pedal past the herds and up the hill. Winter is coming, but you wouldn't know it from the blue skied mornings or outdoor concerts in the park. It's only there, just before dawn, when it is still dark and the last of the street cleaners are out, when my feet stick out from under the covers and the windows are open, it's only in the chill over the soles of my feet that I feel it.

The great Tired creeps up on me. I sleep, for hours and hours on end, I cannot get up even to brush my teeth and too soon it is morning. Still it is not enough. Friday night texts roll in and I roll over, hugging the security of quiet and darkness, reeling from the thoughts and questions that remain without.

It's so close now, I can smell it.

Pull your toes in.

Prepare for the chill.