Yawning in place

Snow- the ever-present, the all consuming, the wintry one- refuses to leave my doorstep. Here I labor another hour to keep awake, yawning in place, drugged by the power of dim lights and dark days.

Sleep is a tenderhearted woman, caressing me into dreams the clock does not account for. And when I wake, the chill in the room reminds me only that it is the cocoon I am wrapped in that saves me from shivering. After waking, the cold is much too severe in my room, and even the last remnants of dreams cannot warm hands and feet. That must be done by walking, leaving the blanket womb, and entering a world not too kind for one who sleeps the nights alone.

Still, the scathing wind wraps around me like a scarf, and I begin to acclimate to the elements. Walking, driving, heat on high, bundled like a mighty fat walrus, I can make it to my destination. It is the exit- a quick shock- and re-entry- into a semi-warm world- that stuns me. And once I sit down, I find myself baptized into an atmosphere so warm, so welcoming…I’m once again yawning in place.

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