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. Time to turn in, and wait for the snow, tomorrow.