All I See Is Winter

I've always been a homebody.  Puttering around my house, cooking and cleaning, folding laundry or curled in a chair while playing on the computer or reading a book.  Home is my comfort, my secure place and I've never been one of those people that felt the need to travel the world and set it on fire.

This winter has been bitterly cold.  Day after day after day.  Not too long ago, Alaska was warmer than we were.  It's snowy and icy, treacherous not only to drive in but simply to walk from place to place.  All of that is good news for a recluse.  Though they didn't need an excuse to stay in the house, it still provides a good one.

As everyone knows, cold is not a friend to the Fibromyalgia person.  It quickly and without mercy debilitates us with excruciating pain and fatigue.  During the winter months, our view of the world becomes as narrow and square as the picture above. 

A window, two palms pressed against it until the cold seeps in through glass and we pull them away again, hands held over our mouths for warm breath as a wide, lonely gaze peers over top curled fingers, looking into the grey and the white for a hint of warmth to come.

By late January, even I, the homebody, the person with an illness, am desperate to feel the sun on my face.  I need to feel the warmth seep into my skin, brown it a little bit.  I want to twirl a circle and skip a few steps and watch the world around me explode with color once again as a new season is born.