First day of december, and still no snow. Edmontonians rejoice but this coast girl misses her fluffy white prairie winters and christmas spirit. I was almost tricked out of it. I am going to savor this one.

I am smooth and clean crawling into bed tonight. Little tank top and panties are like silk against my skin, and I wish someone was here to feel how soft I am.

Time and space seem to move around me like a river fraught with rapids, water warm but treacherous. It moves me along with it these days, faster than I would like, but slower, too. When I walk I feel like I am walking a path designed by this torrent of steadiness, a path worthy of the sure-footed.

Are my feet sure? Sometimes. Sometimes, they want to shed their socks and shoes and run carefree tasting the grass and pavement and sand of the playground.

“It’s too cold,” I say to my fanciful feet.

“Oh, would that there were snow on the ground!” They cry. “Wouldn’t that be an adventure!” Yes, I think. It will be.

My muscles ache from yoga done earlier this evening. I bend and stretch and my muscles move and lift me higher as I sink to the ground, a cunning cobra ready to strike. As I lift my tailbone and press my hands and feet into the floor, my muscles sigh with gratitude. I think they are secretly in love with Rodney, same as I.

My eyes are quiet, and my pen is almost dead. My fingers are quiet too, just a little while ago they were tired and sticky. Breath quickened and back arched and here I am, exhausted.