Out

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Cold, windy, but some sun. We walked four miles along another narrow barrier island, part of the Fire Island National Seashore.

A wide sky, a waning crescent moon, an empty beach.

We saw no fox, no snowy owl. Five sanderlings scurried ahead of us, skirting the creamy foam.

As much as our outdoor winter lives in New York lead us to places where we see endless horizons under unencumbered skies, our indoor lives are inverse. Insulated, warm, domestic. You might say cosy. At home, we have withdrawn. Out, we walk to find what makes out hearts beat.

And yes. Sometimes it is very cold.

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