It’s totally against my will that I’m writing about the weather today. But the weather pleaded, begged, cajoled, and frankly sweet-talked its way into my mind’s focus to the exclusion of just about everything else.
The temperature in Boston hit 55 degrees today. Maybe 55 degrees doesn’t sound like any big favor, but one week ago, the daytime high crested 15 degrees, the wind was frigid and nearly everything on the ground was encased in layers of ice and snow. So 55 degrees felt marvelous. Oh, to have warm sun on my bare, unflinching skin!
Though I’d like to put on the stoic face of a rugged New Englander, I’ll admit: This past January was hard. Perhaps if I lived in the secluded state of hibernation that most people adopt in the winter months, I would not have found it so arduous, but to have to walk to and fro the subway with my gloved hands clenched within the pockets of my thick, long, 6-pound winter coat, my chin and neck buried in the collar, my ears tucked under a hat, and my butt perpetually and inexplicably numb… well, frankly, it sucked.
Everyone took a lunchtime walk today. I forgot what sidewalks crowded with smiling people looked like. Hell, I forgot what people looked like when they’re stripped of their winter padding and gear. I forgot what the sidewalks looked like without a foot-high mound of dirty ice flanking the icy foot passage. I forgot what it felt like to walk slow and relaxed, to let the mind wander as far as the feet.
