Warmth

Another January freeze, the radiator falling over itself to create a tropical balm. You open all the windows. 

The mourning doves align themselves along the sills, sunny south facing brick walls with the slow and steady wafts of warm air through open windows, how peacefully they rest, I am reticent to leave my seat lest it scare them away. We build a peaceful co-working space, learning trust, learning slow, conscious movements. There's a gentle grace to adapting to another. 

We squeezed into the busy bookstore, listened to a new writer announce her life to the world, but really it was the moment that lingered, more than the story. We sat on the edge of a table after, heavy pours in stemless glasses, the space smelling of new books and old New York, of roasted coffee and the way things were. The walk home was short, and cold, the neighborhood sizzling with itself. 

Spring is coming. 

I mean it as a metaphor.