Bare Toes

Today, I stepped outside barefoot on to our terrace to save the remains of a six pack from warming up in the sun.  My bare feet and the melting snow whacked me over the head with a wave of nostalgia.  According to Wikipedia, personal blogging "can have a sentimental quality".  So, here we go.  Growing up, we spent an inordinate amount of time outside.  In place of TV was the vast outdoors - two ponds, rambling brooks and swamps, mountains (actually just hills), an assortment of fowl, and an extensive system of former logging trails that snaked through the neighboring woods.  Running free was a given.  Today brought me back to being a kid on a day when it was just starting to feel warm enough to shed a layer or two, maybe a sweater at first, later a jacket.  The warming sun would offer encouragement and before long perhaps shoes and socks came off too.  There would still be a few pockets of snow here and there and the squishy ground was ridiculously cold but felt so exciting on bare toes.  Within minutes, the feet went numb, but enthusiasm soared.