come like a cat

It's winter. I have officially worn each of my various fleece jackets and sweatshirts, as well as my three heavier jackets/coats. My scarves and hats have begun to see some use as well. I have arrived on campus and sat in my classroom enduring the stinging feeling in my thighs and on my nose as they defrost from the chilly walk from the park. The sky has that tint of grey to it, and the leaves have almost completely fallen off the trees in our yard.

Every winter, I try to give myself a pep talk into enjoying this season. I enjoy every other one, and surely this one can be managed as well. "You get to wear fun scarves," I remind myself. "And your new red coat. And hot drinks are even more enjoyable. There's Christmas lights and blankets and a month off from school." And, I do enjoy each of those things. But I can enjoy a lot of those from the warmth of my house. I don't like being out in the freezing wind, which is difficult because I struggle with cabin fever. I can't spend too many days in a row inside before I get grouchy and bored. Even if I have a lot on my to do list, I start to go stir crazy and pessimistic if I don't force myself to bundle up and at least take a walk or do something to get my blood flowing.

One of my goals for this winter is to more than just tolerate it. I don't expect to love it, but I want to take a step in that direction and at least begin to notice the little pieces of beauty that I find - like the way the frost on the grass in the early mornings looks like glitter, or the fact that I can snuggle under layers of blankets.

I wrote this poem a month or so ago for my workshop class. I still need to revise it and tweak it a little, but it's titled "To Winter" so I thought I'd share it. (The metaphor inspiration: my roommate's cat Wheezy)

Come like a cat on silent paws.
Come like a sneak attack.

Come only at night, at first.
Come for the fallen leaves.

Come through my window –
Come through unplastered crevice.

Come with sour, self-centered eyes.
Come bite my toes through threadbare wool.

Come rub your neck against my ankles.
Come shed a chill I can’t brush off.