
“Shush” instructed the winter wind, on a very cold morning. The Sun’s familiar hug now weak, his usual toasty shawl much too light over my shoulders, and the steep cool-down made me shudder. I walked faster, as if it were possible to to flee the chill, cutting through every nook and cranny of my attire. My feet soon built up some friction, the promise of a little heat from the brisk movement. My mind wandered off with the same hurry.
That man walking towards me from the corner, he’s wearing jeans and jeans aren’t warm at all. In fact, they’re awful cold ¿Why do people insist on wearing jeans in winter?
“Hush!” it demanded, “listen, because this is a rite of passage”.
¿But isn’t this just another walk to the local mini market? The usual chore, one of many I cannot escape, because then ¿who’d prepare lunch?
No need to answer. It was suddenly clear, for a few seconds. Spirit was present, it was the normalcy of the errand that deceived. I kept going. To my left, a lengthy stone-walled residence oozed its cool humor. The icy, whitened sidewalk, the uphill street like frozen slate, made me even colder.
Today I might do this or maybe that, it depends, it’d be better if I check first and then… I strayed again. Ideas blew by like the last of the autumn leaves, wanting to be fresh, trying to be new. Then his swift gust numbed my head with a chilly slap, “shuuuuush”. And I did.
On my way back home, the ombre mountains stood guard as always, now shrouded under a minty vail; the sky a gauzy canvas with no defined horizon. Still silent, I carried my goods for the day, simple foods, basics for the fridge; my legs were already sore from lack of a warm up. Turn the corner and a new rush of wind funnelled my attention back.
“Listen. It must be done, forget the legs, take comfort in the sky, you are seen, behind the gauze, these days so usual, so basic, are your rite of passage.