here I am above the circle & it’s pouring outside with slippery ice you’ve to wear brodder to walk on. All around town you hear click/clack of brodder. 

What is brodder? it’s small non-corsive metal spikes that grip the ice & it holds you upright. This week I was fooled by snow, gentle patches on the ground covering the ice until you dislodge a piece of snow & down you go. 

It’s sad we may not have a white Christmas just gray & wet like Seattle winters. The temperature is hovering at nearly 40 degrees; to warm for my down jacket. 

I miss those ristretto pulls & the way my favorite baristas knew what I drank. Here the shots are lungo, bitter with no crema. The milk is sweet without sugar & when it’s heated right it foams beautifully. 

I heart you Seattle & dream about farmers markets & low elevation “snow.”

The snow was beautiful as it fell & now it’s all but rained away. Going outside means wearing spikes to walk on the streets which have turned to ice. 

The fog dances between the mountains & into the town wrapping itself in the streets. It feels like a Seattle winter just add snow. 

I hear it’s supposed to clear up but the weather seems to have other plans…guess I’ll just have to wait & see. 

What does it feel like to wake up at 3am to shocking news. I was unable to sleep afterwards. The country I grew up loving as a child has become something I no longer recognize. 

I might be cold when I walk outside but I’d rather be cold then surpressed or told that my aspirations no longer matter. Maybe it’s the crotch grabbing new not my president. How come a reporter loses his job & he wins. There’s something seriously wrong with that logic. 

I count my blessings when I go to bed, lucky to be out. Maybe I’ll just stay out?