This morning I left a sleeping man in the bed and walked wearing only my cotton robe and my wellies to open the greenhouse. The breeze whipped up the fabric – worn thin from twelve years of washing and secured only with a sash – as if it were nothing. Fresh chilled air surrounded my skin that has been layered in wool and denim for the long months of fall and winter. My unbrushed hair slashed my face with stinging force and then as quickly flew away. The trees called out an invitation as the wind tossed their limbs and branches in a swaying dance and I lifted my arms and joined them.