Sun, Cold, and Frost

I went outside today and it was cold. My body was confused because my face felt warmth from the sun. My limbs wanted me to shed the heavy outer layers I carried but my brain knew I couldn't. I felt the rays of the sun, but it was still winter and the temperature was near 40 degrees. My body told me that it would be fine, that it wanted to run and play, to throw and catch things with no hindering jacket or long pants on. My mind knew better. It told me the truth. I would do these things with no warmth for a few moments, but then my body would start to ache and cry for protection. I would then have to put my coat back on, and putting on the layers that I believed I was free from for another season would be too much. March is not winter, but not yet spring, either. I can wait.

I read a Robert Frost poem yesterday. It was about a flower resting on a windowsill during the winter. A harsh, rough, cold winter breeze blew by and swept against the window, saw the flower, and loved it. The flower did not know what to do. A pane of glass separated them. The breeze left.