pandemic winter. I told my friends I was worried about it back when It was only coming. It’s here. I might not leave my house again, like at all, until.. March? No. This can’t be. God snow is pretty. And softer to crawl on than concrete. I love that feeling of being perfectly cocooned in appropriate clothing. I don’t feel trapped then. I don’t know what feeling it is for being ...well-braced. I’ve reveled in Arctic winter. I grew up here in Ontario winters. Confinement inside confinement, but I did this before. Its so pretty. If I had a bigger window. More trees, less brick. Pockmarks in the exterior concrete. Exterior/skin. Inside, more plants? A fireplace?
I can live off the nature walks I took in summer and fall, stored up in my cheeks and my nest like the squirrels do. I will live off cozy until spring. Will there be relief then? I pinned my hopes on last spring and got lockdown. But I came through. I came through. I thrived, nearly. How is it already winter?
My friend, who lives across the ocean heard about the snow day from her parents. And another who looked outside from the same town and thought of me in my snow globe. So pretty, so enclosed. Shake me up. No, don't. Less dizzy, more nothing. They texted me. It’s winter, are you ok? Thank you Internet. Thank you friends.
I’m ok. Remember, me. You can’t do ok for the entirety of snow in one day, you can only do ok for one day on that day and that’s it. And I’m ok.
It’s so soft and pretty, I’m trapped, send warm cookies for me to eat in bed.
(Everyone’s favourite mug by Karin Dovel)