17. Ready

 

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The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.

A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.
-Emily Dickinson

I look out my window and think – what an ugly day. I’m worn down by the weather the last few weeks. Rain, grey, cold, clouds. Waterlogged grass and numb fingers. A niggling wind, enough to whip my hair into my face and chill my skin, an annoyance. It’s raining ice outside now, tiny misty pellets that could be rain except for the tick-tick-tick of their impact on the windowsill. The sky is featureless white wall from the horizon to the vault, without any texture in the clouds to break up the flatness. There is a V of geese flying out the window, twisting and turning, black wingspans against the white. I imagine that they are stir-crazy from the weather too, that they decide to take a quick flight just to break up the monotony of the days. Not going anywhere, but not being HERE any more.

I feel cooped up, much like the geese in my imagination. The weather has trapped me inside since last Saturday, when I ran through the trails in the rain. I want to put on my tights, lace up my shoes and go run again, but I would be miserable doing so. The forecast promises sun and dry tomorrow, and I am holding out against hope that it will deliver. I will bring my running bag to work with me and go log miles on my lunch break if it does. I want to go outside in sunglasses, feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, do something physical. I feel like I am going to crawl out of my skin if I can’t get moving soon. I feel like I am going to crawl out of my mind if I don’t get outside of the four walls of my office and the four walls of my house.

I am ready for change, ready for spring, ready for something, ANYTHING, other than this non-stop dreariness.

 

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