I shake my head in invisible conversation and think for the third time this morning; “Child it’s not playing around out there! It’s really cold!” Then I head for the loo.

Along with the cold has arrived the wind. In my place of meditation, I can hear it moaning outside past the corners of the room, taking me away with it. I am hurtled into some midwestern desert town. Lookout Dorothy, tell the Wizard to hide; I’m back!

I stroll in a slow exaggerated, bow legged pace down the center of the street. I stop, reaching up slightly lifting the rim of my Stetson, looking smart in my skinny dust-covered jeans. My tan and brown cowboy boots resting faithfully on my feet; pants tucked in of course! I balance both my hands on either side of my hips. Poised over the twin barrels of the revolvers resting casually in their holsters.

Without seeing I know my every move is being watched behind heavy curtains and shuttered windows. The doors of the town’s saloon swing back and forth in greeting. Hushed stillness rushes out to meet me. An occasional tumbleweed rolling quickly down the street. Only the wind dare make conversation.

And then I think to myself; “I don’t think I’ve brushed my teeth yet!”

In one coordinated swoop, I stand, pull and press down, then maneuver to the sink. I rinse my brush in hot water, smear on the toothpaste and think; “time to start my day! I can shoot that bad guy the next time the wind blows high.