Feb 27, 2019
It's a rare day in Vegas when I can see my breath billowing out in clouds of perspiration and the mountains are made invisible by a solid sheet of white. The sky is wrapped in a fleece blanket. Spattered drops toss themselves under the tiled overhang of slanted roof, kissing the plants I've lined along the walls of brown stucco that enclose my patio. Even the sun needs to hibernate, so I copycat, hiding myself away in the comfort of puffy blankets and a chunky scarf. Today reminds me of a little gray kitty that snuggled into the L of my neck and shoulder, loving me through life's wear. Her presence said, "It's okay to rest. I know you're sad. You will rise again." I miss her acceptance on days when I feel too beaten to shine. Does nature ever take breaks, or does it only appear that way? Is it okay to slow down? When will the reset click in? Today the sky's a blanket, tomorrow a sea of blue. Every element divines its right time to peel back the covers and move on.