The exception

Almost without exception I am happy to be out walking on our farm. Even when it is damp or cold out, once I leave our front doorstep, my world opens up and I joyfully walk along noticing the always-changing details of the landscape. My walks ground me in a way that nothing else does.

This morning, I wanted to stay in our warm bed. I wanted to sip strong dark coffee until noon. I wanted to get lost in the novel that I started last night. But I convinced myself that I should get up and check out the first bit of snow that blew in on an east wind last night. I convinced myself that this morning would be the same as all the others: delightful once I got on my way.

Wrong. Even though the thermometer read 23 degrees, it felt like 10. Actually, it felt like -10, with a  bitter wind hitting my face. I ducked into the woods and walked faster. Still fiercely cold. My 99 cent knit gloves didn't begin to keep my hands warm. I pulled the hood of my puffy coat up over my hat, still the wind came whistling through.

I stopped a couple of times to snap a photo on my phone and convince myself that this was fun. Wrong. It was just damn cold.

After a quick tour through the woods, I headed home. Ed greeted me with a mug of hot coffee. Without exception, I was happy to be back in our warm farmhouse.