Days go by

This morning I could feel the rain before it set in, and my house smelled like the transition from fall to winter. I knew it was going to be a day where I could warm myself by thinking of chili, scarves and the smell of the furnace.

I could feel the crunch of the leaves’ end under my feet as I padded down the stairs, the cat content as my white shadow until she leaped in front of me and skipped the last three steps in anticipation of her morning meal. She flicked her tail as she passed through the living room, dismissing the evidence of a weekend of procrastination left on the floor.

The food hit the bowls with a twinkle and her eyes disappeared into the task at hand. The crunching followed me as I made my way back up the stairs, reminding me of the sound under my smaller-back-then feet when it would snow silver inches during the day and freeze into time at night. The chill traveled down my arm as I exchanged a cotton t-shirt for a turtleneck in my armoire.

When I was a small, quiet child, on days when my friends were not in school and I was left to my own devices at recess, I would sit on the hard, cold swings and close my eyes tight until I saw blue on the backs of my watery eyelids. Sometimes I can still feel the cold metal between my fingers, and I remember myself sad and lonely in the middle of a swarm of oblivious children laughing and playing around me as I tried to curl up into myself, missing my mom. On those days I filled my head with the false hope that if I kept my eyes closed long enough, the whole day would vanish, leaving me that much closer to starting a fresh one.

But now, as the seasons fly by, leaving me scrambling for fresh air and sunlight, I can’t help but wonder if I am paying for all that wishing away of days.

~ by Megan on October 22, 2007.