I've found that sleeping while it's cold
Increases the fortitude of my general disposition;
It centers me between either side of the bed,
While I tuck in my head,
And if I have been sloppy in making that bed?
Well then I reap the drafty whirlwind about my toes,
Forcing me to action: Fixing the error of my ways
or Inaction: Huddling closer and telling myself fables about how it really isn't very cold and that hypothermia is very unlikely for people inside.
Really the inaction is only the lazy man's delay; it never lasts long,
It cannot, for hypothermia cares not a whit for indoors or out,
Only for low-riding mercury and making the lazy man wise or dead.
Now don't for a minute think that there is complaint in any of this;
It is interesting beyond these rambling words to think about sleep and how one procures one's portion. There is a certain joy that is dispensed in want that one savors in plenty.
Plenty cannot live without its poorer cousin.
And the splendor of a warm bed?
Play footsie with Frosty and gratitude will well up in your heart when next you lie warm and comfortable.
I'm off to bed now.
Nice and Warm.