Thursday, January 03, 2008

It seems that the cold of winter was waiting for me to arrive home from my visit to my extended family in St. Louis before it clamped down on southern New England. It’s been frosty for the last two days, and this morning the cold really came on with all its bristling and bullying. The temperature was 11˚ when I headed out for my morning exercise at 5:00 a.m., and the wind was whistling at my back as I climbed Granite Street. I felt fairly warm, though, dressed as I was in many layers, with my ski cap pulled snug around my face so only my eyes were exposed. It was a bitter morning, but the silver stars and the sliver of a moon were shining as gaily as ever, and a few warm-looking lights were glowing in windows of early risers. When I was back in my apartment and contentedly warm again, I read some of Whitman as I enjoyed my breakfast of egg whites, green beans, and whole wheat toast. I enjoyed his poem “Salut au Monde!”, in which he praises the infiniteness of the universe, including himself. Just reading those lines for a few moments made me feel the way I should always feel – as spacious and expansive as the dark morning sky over Granite Street.

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