The weather app shivers in its announcements, the polar wind racing down the mountains toward the Hudson river, as I determine my way out for that neverending morning walk. The cemetery lies still, stones frozen in wait, never as quiet as in January. Down by the dock, one lone dog walker braves the temperatures. The dog is excited for hellos, the humans more keen to return somewhere warmer. The coffee grows cold in my hand in minutes.
Promises line themselves up on the horizon, some so close I can nearly reach them with my fingertips. The depths of January that normally convolute your vision seem restful, at ease this year, forgetting to make themselves known. The instructor leads you in a deep breath and you think that's alright then.
Every day that is not bad
is good.
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