My feet are cold. That’s all I can think about.
Interesting how, though it’s not a complicated problem, my entire brain seems unable to think about anything else.
But I told myself I’d write today. At this time. So here I am, cold feet and all.
My partner chops wood while listening to the radio. The sun sets slowly. My ginger tea boils.
It’s still winter here in Argentina. But spring, too. For where is that line when one becomes the other. Now they seem to both exist, together.
Green grass is starting to appear. The days are longer. The chickens are laying eggs under the bushes.
One of our favorites has stopped returning to the coop at night. Despite the foxes and skunks that come every night, she sleeps under a bush, helping her eggs turn into chicks.
My ginger tea must be ready.
It will help warm my feet, as will my beloved hot water bottle.
All will be well for a few moments. I will feel warm.
And then my brain will think of other ways to entertain itself.
The blog is done. Tomorrow I hope to write another.