I step outside and feel the warmth,
So sublime on my dry winter skin.
I roll down the windows of my car and imagine myself driving downtown blasting music with windswept hair. And it feels so good to not worry about the layers upon layers I would have had to wear. It feels marvelous not having to protect my head, hands, neck, torso, legs, and feet of the harsh wind. I think to myself, “I am happy and I am happy because it is finally warm out.”
But it shouldn’t be.
I know it shouldn’t be and this fleeting thought smashes my joy. It is mid-February and it’s 70 degrees outside. Something is not right. I should currently be grumbling words as I struggle to trudge through the snow. Cursing the weather and hoping for a hint of sunlight.
This is not normal.
I see people walk in flip-flops wearing “summer” dresses as they enjoy their dripping ice creams. And for a lucrative moment, I wish it were cold. I wish for a sense of normalcy.