NAMASTE 2022
There is a wet nose at my cheek. The room is still quite dark, but I am sure that it must be close to the time I scheduled myself to get up for yoga with Hetal. It is time to get back to routine. “Georgia up,” I call. I surrender after her face tells me she is not getting up on the bed for a morning snuggle. “Ok, here we go.” I search for my slippers under my bed and rise from those cozy sheets (I call my cocoon) towards the door. Georgia scampers down the hall with definite purpose, down the stairs and makes a beeline to the patio door. “Good girl,” I add, and heave open the glass door to the minus 20 degree Celsius temps on the other side. The creak and groan and heft of the door mimic my reluctance. A waft of arctic air accosts my pyjamaed body from head to toe, sending a chill straight to my bones, but it does not faze fur-covered Georgia in the least. She scurries out, finds her spot in the belly-deep snow, and continues to search for just the ideal location for her morning con
