The sun calls me outside; the bitter cold pushes me right back down into this chair.

Satsumas are acceptably tasty, but they are no garden picked pea, no sun ripened tomato, no dreamy sweet kale.

The dirt is frozen so I can not work it. My fingernails are dangerously clean.

Soon I will take up painting the walls of my house. The minerals will stick to my skin. The colors will change. I will occupy my mind until soul satisfying work begins again.