The First Cold Walk

of 2018

Bright, but frigid outside

A lone ladybug does laps 
around the white track 
of window frame
while snowflakes turn, 
shimmering silver flashes 
catch my eye, and speckle the ceiling.

Little squeals and giggles 
pepper the air, still full 
of this morning’s bacon.

My normal ritual 
of my river trail hike
on New Year’s Day 
feels pressing, 
but do I dare face 
the barking cold of this day?

I know how the wind 
will sting my senses
alive on the trail, 
and exactly where 
it will let up.

That the ground 
will be too frozen 
to relax on, but I will
plant myself there regardless.

That I don’t need 
to bring my journal, but I will, 
and that my hands will likely 
go numb as I write.

I know there is absolutely 
no reason why I have to leave 
my house and make myself 
intentionally uncomfortable.

Except for this pressing 
of insides, egging me on.

Time to catapult
myself into sneaks
and out the door — 
to visit rooted truthsayers
who call me to listen

To their thoughts 
on making sense
of the scents
of new year.

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