Fifteen degrees, wind howling, whipping the branches this way and that, blowing the snow into clouds that scud along the ground gathering size as they go, chilly even in the house with a wood stove fire blazing all day, I'm wrapped in a down comforter, woolly slippers, wool sweater and fleece vest... and still I'm feeling the brrrrr.
Oddly, more than personal confrontations, this vengeful show of nature's power has me wanting to eat. All day and all evening the kitchen has been calling my name. "Come here, my pet, you need something... maybe a few crackers? a few nuts? or perhaps a grilled cheese sandwich? what about popcorn?"
Entitlement thinking. I deserve to eat.
I went for a walk. Put full feeders out for the birds. I drank tea... and more tea. And still the kitchen calls.
Note to storm: You are a challenge, displaying your awesome force like this. You frighten me. I'm afraid the power will go out, a tree will fall on one of our buildings, the water pump will freeze, animals and birds will die; I'm nervous about chimney fires, cracked engine blocks, frozen pipes. Your noise scares me. I am naming my feelings rather than making popcorn.
I am entitled to my feelings; I deserve to feel.