Soon after waking up,
I grab my iPhone to check the weather in St. Paul, Minn.
I have strong opinions about the numbers and symbols
That populate the app.
35 degrees this morning?
I like that,
But what’s with the smeary, translucent cloud?
That I don’t like.
Why can’t it be a
With a crest of white at the top of the little box to
Imply three dimensions?
I definitely don’t like tomorrow’s symbol:
Eight snowflakes in various shades of white and gray.
And 45 degrees.
(How so, snow and 45 degrees?)
And my least favorite symbol
For its ambiguity:
The weeping sun.
That’s today’s symbol.
Why do I care so much about the weather?
I work in an office
And I live in a house,
And any time I spend outdoors is deliberate:
“I’m going to spend some time outside,” I say,
Because it has to be intentional.
But I can get into a truly
Over an unseasonably cool forecast,
Especially in the Minnesota spring and summer,
When I feel entitled to
After the long winter.
I have this sense, though,
A hold-over from my childhood when I had
On the weather,
I just wanted to go outside and
My sense is that,
If I get out in the weather,
No matter how crappy it is,
If I get outside and
Walk or run or lay out my mat and
Do some yoga,
I like all weather.
Yesterday, for example,
I tucked my yoga mat roll under my arm and
Walked to the park over my lunch hour.
It was sunny with a snappy spring breeze–
Too cold, I thought, irritated, as I walked to the park
And couldn’t find a perfect spot to lay down my mat.
But after moving through a yoga sequence
And lying in savasana
In the sun’s surprising warmth,
This is perfect.
This air and this sun and this temperature:
It’s perfect just exactly as it is at this moment.