Cold

She wrapped herself around the hot cup of tea and checked the outside temperature on her phone. It was -1 outside. She huddled deeper into her cosy bed and put off throwing off the covers for a moment more. It would be so much easier to stay tucked in warm and tight, but outside beckoned and her legs needed to move.

She shrugged on a down jacket, popped a beanie on her head over her earphones and out the door she ventured.

She blinked as her eyes smarted and nose dripped. She’ll have to remember a handkerchief next time.

The pond was still and eerily covered with a thick mist. ‘A real pea souper’, as her Dad would say.

And as she walked her toes warmed and the mist began to rise.

She pondered this thing about moving to stay warm.

Her man just yesterday, when it was colder still, returned home in shorts and t-shirt after a misty morning run, invigorated and sweaty warm.

She thought of the many mornings she’s missed by checking her phone before checking her heart and how quickly it starts to freeze. How easy it is for her heart to grow cold, like her toes.

She thought of the small group they’d joined last week, the warmth of fellowship, the effort of meeting new faces, yet the joy in shared faith, shared struggle, shared life. So warm.

The mist rises in wispy trails as the sun breaks through, rising, moving, warm.

‘Let not your heart grow cold’ she tells herself, ‘nor your toes, keep moving, keep rising, don’t settle for comfortable when incredible is waiting for you, and it’s warm’.