It was the wind this morning that made it chilly.
I took one step outside, stopped a second to gather my keys, and in that second felt a small tornado of wind rush up the stairs.
That's kind of cold, I thought and went back inside to get a jacket.
Yes, I was born in Florida and like any good Floridian, my tolerance to the cold is minimal, but I was also raised in the north and part of me is invigorated by a change in temperature, by the chill.
I love this time of the year. I don't love that the shortened days mean less sun and strength and fuel for the wild flowers. But I love that I can walk a few more steps, follow a bird up through the maze-like vines hanging from the trees and not get dizzy looking through the optical viewfinder of my camera.
I love that I can go from kneeling to standing and not feel like my heart is about to break through my chest.
I love that I found this crazy little bird this morning in those vines, a woodpecker with a red crown. He was hyperactive--maybe the chill helped him as well. He didn't stay still. He's the only bird I've seen that, like the old cartoons, never studied law and so seems capable of defying all laws of gravity, hanging upside down.
He was an acrobat.
He reminded me of the kids on the playground when I was growing up, the ones who raced to the jungle gym and hooked their legs around the rungs, hanging there, swinging, smiling and laughing. They were the ones who climbed to the top, who had no fear.
I envied them, a little.
I was more of a freeze tag player.
And when it got too cold, when the teachers took us out for recess in the snow and we begged them to let us back inside, we simply ran to keep warm. It was what the teachers, huddled together, hands stuffed in their wool coats, told us to do.
We ran.
I took one step outside, stopped a second to gather my keys, and in that second felt a small tornado of wind rush up the stairs.
That's kind of cold, I thought and went back inside to get a jacket.
Yes, I was born in Florida and like any good Floridian, my tolerance to the cold is minimal, but I was also raised in the north and part of me is invigorated by a change in temperature, by the chill.
I love this time of the year. I don't love that the shortened days mean less sun and strength and fuel for the wild flowers. But I love that I can walk a few more steps, follow a bird up through the maze-like vines hanging from the trees and not get dizzy looking through the optical viewfinder of my camera.
I love that I can go from kneeling to standing and not feel like my heart is about to break through my chest.
I love that I found this crazy little bird this morning in those vines, a woodpecker with a red crown. He was hyperactive--maybe the chill helped him as well. He didn't stay still. He's the only bird I've seen that, like the old cartoons, never studied law and so seems capable of defying all laws of gravity, hanging upside down.
He was an acrobat.
He reminded me of the kids on the playground when I was growing up, the ones who raced to the jungle gym and hooked their legs around the rungs, hanging there, swinging, smiling and laughing. They were the ones who climbed to the top, who had no fear.
I envied them, a little.
I was more of a freeze tag player.
And when it got too cold, when the teachers took us out for recess in the snow and we begged them to let us back inside, we simply ran to keep warm. It was what the teachers, huddled together, hands stuffed in their wool coats, told us to do.
We ran.
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