The clouds give a certain multi-hued flatness to the sky this morning. By the time Shiloh and I return home, the sun and wind have torn holes in the moisture-ladden blanket, and brilliant azure eyes peep through at me, gorgeous and smiling.
Today is the day that the Hans Brinker cast gathers for ice skating in upscale downtown Glen Burnie, at a very nice outdoor rink. I have resolved ahead of time that I will not skate, as yesterday saw me miserable, my every joint anticipating the early morning rain. When I wake, there is evidence on the ground of rainfall, and walking the dog is painful. I rent skates for the kids, and help them into them. They go out on the ice. My ankle says "no" but my heart yearns to participate, my body clamors to fly at high speed, though it's likely been fifteen years since I wore blades. I am not, by nature, a wallflower. The sky is now a mass of blue beauty, punctuated with handfulls of fluff. I watch a hawk hunt pigeons, who scatter unartfully.
And no one who knows me, not Carla, who said, Hawk will kill us, Jose who said, I'm not gonna talk you out of it, Mark (via Carla's cellphone, he's sick) who threatened to kick my ass, JB, on my cell phone about casting Watergate!, who said Guuuuurl!, or even Hawk himself (whenever he hears of it) will be the least bit surprised that I must put my complaining ankle on ice tonight.
Worth it, though, ohhhhhh, yeaaaahhhh.