It’s almost February.
According to my experience, February is the coldest month of the year. January is also very cold.
Where are my gloves? … One pair is still unpacked, one is lying in some bag, and one is hanging from my wall.
Where are my hats? … Conveniently placed on top of the bookshelf, along with small empty boxes and a summer hat.
Where are my winter boots? … Beside the newer ones. I wear them sometimes.
What’s happening to our planet? Why are cherry trees blooming, why are bears not sleeping?
The weather is so lovely, so similar to an average Bogotá morning, it is scary. I feel guilty for enjoying it this much, I feel guilty for the smile that bursts out the moment I come out into the morning sun. Am I supposed to be feeling at home so far away from home? I don’t think so.
Maybe it’ll finally get bad in February. If so, I’ll be somewhat relieved to curse a sun under which my numb hands find no warm comfort.