Eskimo crossing

Sunny days in winter are such a gift. Everything looks bright and cheerful: the snowy rooflines against an azure sky, tree limbs glazed with white icing, long blue shadows. When I woke up to sunshine streaming in through the blinds, I knew it was the perfect morning for a long walk.

The gazebo at Rec Park, slightly less magical, but no less pretty in the snow.

It was cold. The snow was squeaking underfoot, and I could feel the chill even through my long underwear. The rest of me was warm, though, thanks to my new winter coat.

This is just the beginning of my love affair with this coat. During the long, cold winter, my happiness pretty much comes down to just one thing: am I warm? I'm overflowing with gratitude for the opposable thumbs of my species which allowed us to invent central heating. The privileges of warm hands and warm feet when it's below freezing outside are enough to fill me with joy. Birds and squirrels are out there in the snow, and I'm inside wearing fuzzy slippers. That's enough.

How great it is, now, to go winter walking with warm ears. I may look like an Eskimo, but I don't mind too much. I'm warm. All of me.