Not Missing Out on Winter

(This bit of fiction came out of timed writing in Laguna Writers workshop this week. Here's the cleaned up version. I'm including it here, for it reflects where some of us are with seasonal cycles.)

     Spring arrived yesterday, but I wasn't answering the door.  Or perhaps I was out getting turkey meatloaf.  It was a pajama day for me, unlike the wishful lollers in Dolores Park wearing flip flops and tank tops.  I just pulled my East Coast coat over the Italian men's pj top and old baggy ass sweats.  Stomper boots kept me grounded, not getting carried away by the promiscuous Chinese magnolia defining magenta on Hancock.  I was still hibernating.

     Spring arrived yesterday, rang my doorbell and waited.  She looked up and watched the Tibetan prayer flags being pushed around by the wind.  The plum tree was like me, not getting enough sun to bursth forth and blossom.  Spring looked inside my mailbox - phone bill, junk mail, a catalog from an expensive clothing store.

     Spring took her bright pink shiny hardcase on rollers and sat on the studio bench outside.  She fingered the individualized clay tiles, looked up at the sign.  Yes, a pottery studio.  Spring wanted a clove cigarette, but realized she no longer smoked, giving way to her delicate petal lungs.  Spring looked in her handbag and left me a calling card:

     "Dearie, missed you today.  Be back soon.  Get ready."  And this is what I found, walking home with my turkey meatloaf and digging in the dusty copper mailbox.  Her note all fresh and frothy.

      I unpeeled my coat, dumped the note, and headed for the kitchen.  I put the turkey meatloaf in the fridge, made some Mexican hot chocolate with almond milk, and got back under the covers where I belonged.  The lump at the foot of the bed moved, and my cat shimmied out, disoriented.  He flopped down by my hand topside for a belly rub, while I sipped the Mexican hot chocolate. 

      Warmth went through me, and I tried not to think of Spring's threatened return.  She'd come and stay and be too cheery, and the apartment would feel too small.  I'd have to make up work gigs in other places.  Leave her here with her fairy dust wands, while I hunkered down in some friend's walk-in closet, guest room, or far off cabin.

     For now I wanted to still the hands on my alarm clock, keep time with my cat purring under my fingers, and grow my Mexican hot chocolate belly.  I had five weeks until equinox, dammit, and I was going to have my Winter, no matter what anyone else thought.  Spring was coming for sure, but my cocoon pod time would not come around again for another year.  I wasn't going to miss out on the big, delicious Nothing this time.  Something always comes from Nothing, that I knew for sure.