There is a gentle snow falling across the street light’s beam, and I’ve got a predictable case of the mid-winter blues. In the last days of winter break, I could feel it creeping in, pushing slowly into the space behind my sternum.
It’s there now, occupying each muscle fiber as I tie my running shoes and strike the treadmill, stride by stride, in halftime rhythm with my heartbeat. It’s not washed away by the scalding shower, or soaked out by tepid bathwater. It’s just landed lightly, pulled its feathers over its eyes and gone to sleep. I’ll let it rest there. There’s not much more to do than hope for a sudden migration.