journal

Good morning, asshole

What it says on the mug given by a friend over the holidays. And this morning, the coffee a little on the bitter side. Feeling myself bristling. Edgy. Irritable. The cold, I am certain, is getting to me. The way the snow - pristine as it falls - turns dirty so quickly. How little I want to be outside when it's icy, then, slushy, then icy again. How I'm thirsting for green, for ambient temperatures, for that breeze that whispers summer isn't so far behind. The wildflowers I planted and placed by the kitchen window are stubborn. The stems keep climbing, reaching for more warmth, more light. Occasionally, an orange flower reveals itself. I am trying to pay attention. I'm trying to remember the soil - crumbly and deficient though it looks - nevertheless nourishes. I take another sip. I pour in a little more cream. I add in another teaspoon of sugar.