Sometimes my bed is the only place to retreat. The simple fact is that it is cold again. The recent 37-47 degree temperatures lulled us into a false security that spring-like weather was here to stay. Instead, this evening I am burrowed under the puff of down and a handmade quilt. My husband is reading in bed beside me. I slide my cold feet nearer to his. The radiating warmth forces my feet onto his like little iron filings attracted to a magnet. Once my feet and his feet touch, there they remain. His warmth becomes my warmth, which becomes our warmth. My hands also feign icicles, but instead of pushing my luck, I wring my hands in the layers of down and quilt. That does little. So, I begin to imagine them curled around a hot mug of tea. Still ice-like. I drape them across my torso interlacing my fingers. I close my eyes and face reality. It will take time. Patience. Warmth will come.
Patience is wearing thin among most northern folk. Another winter storm is coming. In reality most things in life, we have little control. Patience. It will take time, but spring will come. Someday.