He takes her hand, hoping it will make a difference. She doesn't seem to hear him. Distracted, she is. Occasionally her mouth moves but he isn't sure if she has said anything, his ears covered by a thick fur hat. He feels too awkward to ask, trapped at the thoat and thoughts going. Shooting him down. Her ears are covered by a bushy nest of hair. He wishes he could see her ears. He curses at them, knowing he would most probably love and admire them just as much as her eyebrows and thin lips. She has a bland look of disinterest on her face. Won't he shut up at some point? Silence is the best kind of talk. Isn't silence evidence of a deeper connection? What wasn't said. Read between the lines. Comfortable silence. Yes. Behind them, people have crawled out of their little Winter hideouts to walk across the frozen lakes. Sun shining, shreaks ringing out when ice cracks beneath...

It seems like a life time ago when the lakes were frozen. Winter seems far away when the sun shines. A town shedding layers and layers each day. Jackets, scarfs, beanies thrown into cupboards. Stepping out and soaking up the warm light. When the sun shoots jagged rays through and between buildings, they stop. Someone always stops and closes their eyes. A little streak of warmth in which they stand, thawing. Once a city of hibernation, now a city coming to life. I sat on the bridge the other day, reading and writing next to a group of friends spending a sunny hangover Sunday lying in the sun with a guitar. After a Winter of self and retreat, the sunlight is bringing everyone out, and together. I am just observing. Just here. Taking what comes my way.

If you're open to it, life is like a cat. It drops all sorts of things at your feet, it is just a matter of whether you're open to it all. Willing to say "yes" or able to see the positive out of something going a little wonky.