I live in a winter wonderland. White snow layers the world around me, a silvery glow fills the sky. Morning temps are minus ten degrees. New snow is Spackled to tree trunks while still-falling snow shimmers in the air.
When it's this intensely cold, woodland creatures don't sit for long. The bluejays in tree branches fluff their feathers to trap air in their downy insulation. The grey squirrels curl tails up their backs and over their heads for an extra fur ruff. Birds and squirrels move in a constant dance. Movement = warmth.
When I begin my TCC practice, the only sound is the hum of the propane furnace. I've reset it to raise sleeping temperatures from 56 back up to near 70 degrees. It runs ... and runs ... and runs.
I'm tempted to abbreviate my morning practice. There's so much to do today just to keep warm. But my body urges me to finish. It tells me that it will miss the movements I skip ... I will feel incomplete. So I continue to move--it's only five minutes more--and I end standing tall and still like the trees outside my window.