This week, I've been tangoing with a new... acquaintance.
A devilish character, she's a chameleon who slips her way in clandestinely, no matter the place or time. Cold she is too, with malevolent intent for all who tread too close. Sometimes even black. A duplicitous, black intent.
Lady ice, why are you so stealthy? Announce your presence, claim your turf boldly. I'm tired of the feeling of falling. Your yang, Sir Frost, has no trouble announcing his presence, though he's as silent as could be. When in a rush, I don't have time for ginger-toed testing and anxious penguin shuffles. I want to stride. Texas taught me boots are made for walking; you're challenging my well-shod truths.
(And my apparently not-so-well-padded tail bone.)
After this week, I need a rest from your freeze. I need brightness and lightness and barely-there wear, and sheer cottons and cutoffs and feet freely flying.
What's more, I need a touch of decades past 'cause Mama Sheryl said it best:
I need to soak up the sun.
And yes oh yes, dear Sher-bear, a change would certainly do me good.
Have a toasty weekend, loves.