Shouldn't…but Do

Seasons change.  Winter’s grip eased with trial and time, spring is undeniably here.  Today I took off my gloves.

Each winter, each day, inside or out, I wear knit gloves.  My hands chill quickly, chilblains, unsightly,  gloves help.  This winter into spring, the fahrenheit fell with my child support.  When alone, turning down the thermostat was an economical, albeit cold, measure.

Gloves are useful, especially mine.  Stretchy, conforming, let me navigate a lot of the world without actually touching its colder surfaces.  Protection.

But gloves leave me out of touch.  Leafing pages is difficult,  a warm handshake unfelt. Correspondence, interchange, presence in the tactile world is difficult.  Limitation.

Like many people these days, I am looking for work.  These words, and the hands that form them, must touch the world, and help me find my way.  Time for these gloves, those habits – that protected so faithfully – to yield to a warming world.

The gloves are off, my hands are healed.  No longer covered, they traffic in this world, and so I hope, will I.  Seasons change.