Today was cold, with a bitter wind blowing. When I first woke up and sat on the couch with my tea and meditations, the snow that hit the window just over my shoulder took the form of pellets. Needless to say, I did not feel drawn to hurry outside for my daily constitutional.
Winter hits pretty hard when it comes here to Vermont. It can catch me off guard, lulling me in with sunny autumn days when I can hang my laundry outside and let it dry in the soft breezes.
I took my walk, but later than usual. Hung the laundry inside near the wood stove, made some soup with the Thanksgiving leftovers, and then, settled in by the fire to read. My book caught me up in its world as darkness fell.
What little guilt I had for reading my day away was absolved by reminding myself “it’s for book club. I have to finish it by Thursday!”
But then I wondered why guilt comes up, at all? With so many wonderful books to read, why do I chastise myself for taking the time to actually sit down and read some of them? Maybe, just maybe, it is my responsibility to read more books, to make it worth the while of all those hope filled authors who spent days agonizing over plot and character and turns of phrase.
I like this thought. Maybe this is a part of my charge as a retired person, one small way to make good use of my time.
