Winter morning

 It's 7:15 am and I have just got back from a kettlebell class. 

I know.

See? You were right to worry about me - I have clearly lost my mind!

The classes are 3x a week and the Thursday class starts at 6:15. In the morning. I thought it was a misprint at first, but no, it really isn't. Yet, for several weeks now, I have set my alarm, got up, and gone to the class. The first morning, I stood in the bathroom for some time, wondering why everything looked so blurry, before I woke up enough to realise my glasses were still on my nightstand. 

The classes are tough, but good. My friend recommended them, as we were in the pub bemoaning the fact that we can't run anymore (the planter fasciitis has never properly gone away for me and running now leaves me limping with pain the next day. Even if I feel young, my heels know the truth.) In the pub, many things seem plausible. 

But you know? It's good. Even the early start. It's enough to keep even me out of the wine the night before, and I am feeling stronger. 

This morning, as I walked back home across the rec, the sun was coming up and the sky was alight - the stark winter trees resplendent against the orange sky, the frost on the grass glowing pink in the reflection. I stopped in my tracks - just stood for a bit, knowing that for a minute, right now, everything is OK - and truly believing, somehow, that it will continue to be so.