Cold Hands, Warm Heart?

Yes, there have been wind-chill warnings,

but it's not nearly as bad as it could be

(or probably will get).

Both ends of my commute were bright

and clear, with the morning sun peeping its

delicate pink self from behind

the downtown buildings.

Then, this afternoon, someone had loosed

a colorful array of Mylar balloons,

a flash of rainbow that reached for the sky,

then, withered from the cold, 
they huddled in a tree.

I don't like being cold. My family did not have

central heating in our home until I was

in middle school. 

During the winters, I was always cold. 

I would huddle under a quilt, tucked

around me to create a cocoon of warmth.

I did not leave it until the next morning when

I'd run, shivering, downstairs to stand by

the coal-fired stove that my father had stoked

just before my brother, sister, and I got

up to get ready for school.

Now long grown, I still don't like the winter chill, 

and wrap up on the couch under a quilt 

to watch TV, my little cat

curled into tight wad beside my head.
I negotiate with myself about what I will do -
Get up and make breakfast? Get dressed?
Take out the trash?
I'm plotting a series of drawings.
How am I going to start these drawings
without getting cold feet?
I picture myself in the process of making them,
but, dammit, I can't figure out how to do it
without getting paint on my quilt.