After stepping into the world again, there is that question of how to love, how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning—the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape of cold wipers along the windshield—and convert time into distance.
What song to sing down an empty roadas you begin your morning commute? And is there enough in you to see, really see, the three wild turkeys crossing the street with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross.
As they amble away, you wonder if they want to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too, waiting for all this to give way to love itself, to look into the eyes of another and feel something— the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night, your wings folded around him, on the other side of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended.
Credit: January Gill O’Neil