ArtWrite 8/25: Becky Lewis
Updated: Dec 4, 2020
When the weather came on the radio, Joely quickly pulled back her shower curtain to hear the forecast. Close to zero, more snow, and the wind chill would be even worse.
“Yes!” she said as she pumped her fist to no one.
Dressing to tackle the weather was a game, a challenge really, one that Joley had played with herself since she was a little girl. The goal was to be able to withstand whatever elements confronted her when she stepped outside.
Walking home from work that evening, Joely enjoyed feeling insulated and anonymous, just a set of eyes peering over the top of her scarf.
The wind from the lake pushed against her back like a battering ram, but she was impervious to its bitter chill; her silk long johns and undershirt were keeping her skin sealed as tightly as a sausage casing.
By the time she got to the corner of Grand and LaSalle, she was feeling positively cocky and stepped into a pile of slush, knowing that her Sorels would keep her feet warm and dry. And they did.