Wednesday, February 17, 2016
That is my yak jacket hanging on the hall tree. More to the point, that is what I wore to the post office today--no hat or hood or gloves, no layers, no down-filled parka, just the lightweight, fleece-lined jacket made of yak's wool that my husband brought home from a trip to Kathmandu.
Afterward, even though there is still snow on the ground, I went for a turn around the neighborhood to soak up my portion of the sun-scented air. If I were a girl again, I would have been skipping and breaking off icicles to chew. I would have run across the soccer field to leave my footprints in the unbroken snow.
It was a glorious half hour in which a host of gutters, downspouts and storm drains were singing counterpoint to a holy convocation of cardinals and chickadees.
My yak jacket and I were reluctant to return home.