Up, going west, I weave from road to sidewalk. Footprints in slush form thick, rubbled pathways. My scarf wraps around my head and neck, reminding me of the babushkas in Eastern Europe, and the scarves I used in all four seasons to save backpack space. My hands feel toasty in mittens I’ve had longer than any partner, house, or car. Blue skies surround me. Deep purple, carved Wellsvilles in the West, and bright, white snow covered Canyons in the East, make me smile. I am so in love with this moment. The depth of joy I feel throughout my body, imprints, and I want this feeling again and again.
My right thumb pushes back switching gears, as I dip into the dugway. The cool air chilling my face, as I ride my bike down, slowly. Crispy, fresh air fill my lungs. Riding straight ahead, I drift, imaging myself cruising in an unshaken snow globe, the sun penetrating through the glass, held by another me in warm, sunny Wellington. I had this very feeling there too.
Cars pass my bundled body on snow plowed roads and I feel grateful to see the icicle covered trees. I feel grateful for last years grey, poor, city living winter. I feel grateful I chose to be here. Hopping off my bike, I use my lock, and unclip my saddle bag. Warmth stings my cheeks and ears as I go inside. My hand slides through the ceramic blue handle, and my legs dangle from the wooden stool. Coffee to my lips, I radiate within myself for the mere seconds before work.