February 3, 2015

Wisconsin in winter

It's not what I expected, at the heart of the season, to aim
for the brutal, cold Midwest. I had been dreaming (I thought)
of a stretch of coast, somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line,
or more precisely, six time zones away, a lanai with an outdoor
kitchen and a revolving series of afternoon cocktails. But here I am,
bundling sweaters into a suitcase, searching for the warmest pair
of mittens I can find. And maybe that's it, after all, the pull of heat
more in than out, a yearning not for sand but something finer-grained,
intimate, its earthy center beckoning. The islands are woozy with the sway of palms, 
a too-long plane ride I can't afford. But Wisconsin. Wisconsin's close enough to touch.