five-sense Friday

Seven forty-five in the morning, and I am seeing darkness outside our windows, thick and inky darkness broken only by the shimmer of snow drifts in the orange streelamp glow. I lit a candle this morning, when I rose, and I see its flickering flame and the wide bowl of light it tosses up against the wall.

I'm tasting milky tea, and thinking about all the delicious food I've had this week, the kielki and pierogis smothered in cream gravy with local sausage, the turkey dinner, the crock pot chili, the cookies and fruit. What a gift food is, and particularly food that other people cooked (!).

On the other hand, I'm not really smelling much, as the cold (and maybe someone else's cold?) has stolen my sinuses from me. But I won't complain, because I am done teaching for a few weeks and can slow down a little bit with my books and papers.

My toes are feeling the chill of sub-zero temperatures, but in general the inside world is warm enough, with its heat and blankets and sweaters. I'm still getting used to the thickness of mittens on my hands, to the shock of frozen flesh when I take my first outside breath each morning, to the weight of boots on my feet every time I go outside. But I am basically a burrowing mammal: I will learn to do well in these long winters.

I'm hearing Advent playlists, celebration music, grading-appropriate classical, and the new quiet of college halls less occupied by students. Also, that crunch of cold, cold snow underfoot. Spinning tires. Internal plotting for good things to come.