inside out

The sky is the color of cold wind this morning, though compared to much of the country, a mild cold. The clouds are creased, turned inside out and there are only traces of what might have been silver in their lining, only gray seams to hold them together. They are effective, though, in keeping both the warmth and light away.

I could dwell on it, feel the melancholia and the chill, or I could hide from it, crawl back beneath the sheets and let the feather pillows knot beneath my head until they scrunch up around my face and block my view. There are days when that would be better.


But today there are things I want to do, moving forward things, so I will smooth the sheets, and wear a sweater, and dare the wind to ruffle me. I feel more alive when tousled anyway.