Twenty Minutes

I detest the darkness slowly creeping in, stealing the evening more and more. Especially after the time change, when it is nearly dark by the time I get off work and twilight by the time I finish working out. I hate how my normally chipper mood (shut up) evaporates into one of tremulous melancholy. How each instance highlights the warmth and contentment that used to abide in and with me, but flew away (didn’t they say to set it free if you really love it?).
However, I love (LOVE) mornings like this. Waking up to total darkness, a thin sheet of ice over my car, even after I take the time to shower, check the computer, feed the puppies, make the coffee, and do my hair. The shivering as I drive, holding the freshly made/bought coffee, waiting for the heat to finally come on, whatever the book of the moment telling me stories from the CD player. The iridescent egg yolk enchantingly cutting the darkness in my rearview mirror as I reach my halfway point on my journey to work. By the time I finally pull into my parking spot, I have had to turn the heat down, or at least move the vents from my face, and I am always reluctant to emerge from the warm, safe cocoon that seems like the only truly peaceful place on earth—only thing that would make it more effectual would be to have Dunkyn and Dolan prodding my elbow from the back seat.
Obviously, today was such a morning. While this time of year seems to always be one way or the other (depressing or truly content—funny how my hardest time of year historically became my favorites when he was with me), the constant has been my morning drive. I am thankful that this comfort has not been stolen from me and is still valuable to my psyche. I take pleasure and relief and safety wherever I can find it these days—this is one of the cheapest and purest I have found.