Another Monday

 

My hands are cold.  It helps to wrap them around my coffee mug and feel the heat coming through.  Doing that helps me to think of warmer places, places where snow isn’t.  Places where birds can land on branches without causing the branch to creak with brittleness.   Winter here has deadened all sound, except for the raspy scrape of snow shovels.  Where neighbors are bundled up beyond recognition.

Once my coffee is gone, I will go back out and scrape the ice from my windshield.  I will follow the ruts that will lead me to the freeway, that will take me to the building where an office coffee pot awaits, where everyone wraps themselves in memories of the weekend and waits for Friday.