Barbarism vs. Bubbles

I wish I had the disposition of a warrior.

Outside my third story window, right across the street, I face a rugby field. Over the years, I can observe practices and matches, two forces battling over a ball. If the windows are open I can hear the cheers and calls and grunts. Usually practices don’t end until the sun begins to set and players meander off the field patting each other on the back.

Even though the sun has been out the last couple of days and it truly has felt that spring is upon us, today was a chilly, soggy day. A day where flannels and a hot toddy were in order. But no, not for the warriors across the street. They were out in full force, in their orange and yellow jerseys, running and hitting and bracing the chill. And, on the other side of town, a high school football team made up of valiant girls played its first game…in the muck and sleet. I admire this enthusiasm and fortitude.

My mind does not identify with the desire to participate in rugged contact sports in miserable weather. Some days I wish it did. Some days I wish I could growl at the elements and knock heads

and be a warrior laughing in the face of misery.

But instead I bury myself in a bubble bath and listen to sonorous silence which really does help in the processing of my day,

but doesn’t seem nearly as audacious.

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