This Fish Needs A Bicycle

skylight in winter

When I came into my apartment just now, shaking packed snow out of the cuffs of my too-long jeans, I wished that, despite the cold, my errands had kept me out a little longer.

From his cozy spot on my plush, camel-colored sofa, Sir Hal yawned and squinted at me with an unmistakable, “Do not disturb.” I chose to ignore him. I kissed the top of his tuxedo-black head with my cold, mocha-flavored lips and then abandoned him in favor of swapping icy jeans for the yoga pants hanging on the back of the bathroom door. From the bathroom skylight, afternoon sun was pouring in through the rounded portals that had melted through the several-inch thick snow. I was glad to see the sun; it was reason I’d wanted to invent more errands or prolong the distance between mine this afternoon.

I’d woken up with this morning with two very distinct cravings. Strangely enough (and very much out of character) I wasn’t hungry. My appetite, instead, called for rich coffee and really good fiction. The Barnes & Noble gift card on the desk in my living room would satisfy both, and so I slid out of bed feeling decidedly less poor than my $20.07 bank balance would have suggested. Oh, the price one pays for iPod celebrations.

It was after 11:00 when I finally stepped into the shower. I stood for a long time in the stream of water, looking up at the pyramid-shaped recess in my ceiling, watching steam melt circles into the ice outside. By the time I was washed up, dried off and wiping the moisture off the mirror with the sleeve of my robe, the bathroom was lit up by midday sun.

Sunlight. It's what I have been missing most on these frigid winter mornings. There’s something so very unmotivating about getting ready for work when the world is still dark.

When I first moved into this apartment, the idea of a skylight in the bathroom made me uncomfortable (a fear of voyeurism only compounded when a lover announced he’d like to watch me shower from above). I went to the roof that very afternoon to see for myself if this was possible. It was not. And from then on, I was very much in love with Peeping-Tom-Proof bathroom skylight.

In the summer, I took my time getting ready in the warm, natural light, a small but necessary pick-me-up to start my work day. But what with daylight hours drastically shortened -- hardly existent at all, it seems -- I stare up at the skylight in the morning, see nothing but night, and dread the idea of being awake. I’d almost forgotten how much I appreciated -- and missed -- my exotic bathroom feature at all until this morning, when through the crystal snow, cold, bright light streamed in, bouncing off white ceramic fixtures, and seducing me into an afternoon excursion.

Now that I’m back home, watching the sun fade from my living room windows and the bathroom glow recede down the hall, it’s even more seductive. I’m going to put on a dry pair of jeans, forget my really good fiction, and take in the last remaining minutes of afternoon sun. I’ll create a new errand or simply buy another cup of coffee and go watch the ice on the East River. Because tomorrow, when my alarm propels me to wake, and I’m getting ready for work under the darkness of my winter skylight, I’ll be sorry to have wasted today.