Sunday, March 14, 2004
The chills
This morning, when I first stepped outside, the wind whipped against me. I looked down to see the gusts distorting the shape of my legs and torso; I had aerodynamic clothing which clung tightly against the tops of my body and then flew like a sail on its back. I remember thinking that it was almost too cold to notice the wetness in the air.
This evening it was warmer, warm enough that one could feel the rain in the air, like it was soaking in through one's pores. The air was still cool, though, and the combination of wetness and coolness made for the type of weather that only impacts you at the bones; you think it's pleasant until you feel cold, and then the feeling has buried itself so deep in you you can't chase it away.
When I started to get cold I knew I was in trouble; even so, I find that chill hard to hate, because it reminds me of so many soft Irish days, and tonight I was in the mood for some Ireland. I thought we'd try to catch some music and a pint or so at a nice Irish pub in town. I think we were both disappointed when we walked in, and there was nowhere to sit. It was loud, and I couldn't figure out if we were supposed to just find a home, or if we were supposed to have waited for someone to seat us.
We left as quickly as we got there and went for coffee at Caffeine Dreams instead. We somehow found a table right away, and we talked for a couple hours as a fellow sang about Jesus. There, at least, I was able to start beating back that chill that had been creeping into my bones, even if I'm still thinking about Ireland which, like its weather, has a way of lodging in the folds of your brain and refusing to be forgotten.
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