Recyclables roll down my street, pushed by icy winds. I am wearing layers of my heaviest clothes, and three scarves. A portion of my face is uncovered; the wind burns my skin. Bailey is content. He loves the winter. I bribe him with treats to come back indoors.
Why do I live in a place like this? I gave up trying to leave.
As I sit indoors, the sun is brightly shining through the window. But it mocks me. It looks warm, but no, it’s a facade.
Although the calendar says 28 days, that doesn’t seem correct. It goes on and on. And if you don’t have a Valentine, it adds another layer of cruel with it.
Stay warm, my friends.