Last night's menu included bacon. Breakfast for dinner.
Today that greasy smell weighs heavy in the air. Sticks in my hair, even after my shower.
It's really starting to gross me out.
I open the kitchen window. The pane rows outward, a brave pioneer in the cold. Winter walks in.
The brown window frame stands out, warm against all that gray. The snow. The clouds. The trees. A landscape barely breathing.
Then I see it.
A small moth. Stuck where it last quivered with life, just before the window closed in some warmer month and squeezed the life out of it.
The clock ticks above my head.
Tomorrow is coming.
So I leave the window open a crack and get the kids ready. We're going outside. We'll kick the snow around a little. Feel the breeze chill our cheeks. Shake the bacon out of our hair. Move.
February wants to hang around forever. But we're never really stuck unless we fold our wings.