The North Wind Doth Blow

The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the dormouse do then,
Poor thing?
Roll'd up like a ball,
In his nest snug and small,
He'll sleep till warm weather comes in,
Poor thing.

 

--Traditional Ballad, "The North Wind Doth Blow"

I was much like that little dormouse this morn.  Just couldn't do it.  Couldn't drag myself out in that 6 degree temperature, so I decided to play hooky. Curled back up in my bed and just got up a few minutes ago.  Guess I was more burned out than I thought.  Sometimes it is hard for me to slow down until Nature forces it upon me.  Like this morning, all I could think of was, 'oh, I have my smoking cessation group, and what about my intake?"  Well, there are only four regulars in my smoking group, and how many times have I forced myself into work feeling ill because of an intake that never showed?

So, today is my day, my friends. Gonna go grab a bite to eat now and make a hot cup of tea.  The house is kind of chilly, but that's okay.  I can always climb back under the covers and read my Kindle or sleep, whatever I choose for this is MY day, a day free of work and made only for rest.

Blessings to all, and may you all stay warm and cozy in this frigid arctic weather.

Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,
Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;
Under the glimmer of starts and the purple of sunsets dying,
Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away.

Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer,
Never a dream of love, never a song of bird;
But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber,
Wher'ever the ice winds sob, and the griefs of winter are heard.

Crags that are black and wet out of the grey lake looming,
Under the sunset's flush and the pallid, faint glimmer of dawn;
Shadowy, ghost-like shores, where midnight surfs are booming
Thunders of wintry woe over the spaces wan.

Wifred Campbell, The Winter Lakes