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Friday, January 6, 2012

printemps.

This is the kind of day we dream about in early April, from inside our kitchens looking out and watching the snow melt into cold rivulets down the driveway while joggers go by and everyone else clamors for their bikes to be taken down and dusted off.  And I'm trying to see it for the gift is surely would be if it were April.  But it isn't.  It's January and all I really want, really, is for Bill Steffans to forecast a raging blizzard that will send me running to Costco to stock up on cheese broccoli soup and raspberries and then running home to get everyone's warm nummies washed and layed out.  So I'm stifling the urge to wish this sunshine and warmth away and choosing instead to go for a run as soon as I'm able.  And I'm committing to not checking the forecast for the sole reason of counting the days until it says there is snow coming.  Because this day is a gift, no matter what the date.  Praying this weekend finds you out in it and not inside wishing it away.
This is me being real.  Itching to run.  Is that possible?

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