With July ending, I find myself no longer interested in gardens and preparing myself for winter. This year I tell myself as an owner of huge dogs, I need insulated leather chaps over my jeans. As I sail in midair on icy concrete not on a Harley, but behind my hounds’ fury and drive, I am a leather-clad Mad Max character in a cold, barren world. Neighbors wave with coffee in hand at me. I know I am tough, able to slam a hot cider down, and set my aim to ride the desolate snow-covered concrete to my destination, hounds before me. Leather.
Might as well feel the part. And maybe I will buy that leather vest to match with reviews that say, “Kept me warm as toast on a cold evening ride!” Hidden beneath my Eskimo jacket, it will be my treat when I get home, behind my desk, hounds panting happily at my feet, to advise with a friendly voice, reading Spiritual Tarot in Mad Max attire. During the barren winter landscape of Covidd 19, what better time to indulge oneself?