I’ve made a strange discovery.

Sunshine in winter.

I recently moved from an overcast-until-the-cows-come-home location to one of sunshine. It’s still ridiculously burr cold, and if the wind blows all my arm hair stands straight up and tries to march right back into my body.

But the sunshine…

It lays on my skin like melting butter on toast. Gets all soaked in and I feel all relaxed and soggy with it.

I love that feeling.

There are days that I can layer up my top bits and leave my legs exposed to the elements and sneak outside for some direct one-to-sun rays upon my body. (With a brisk high-tailing if the wind picks up.)

And other days that I cat-out and stretch languidly on the couch as the light lays on it, lays on me. Follow it across my living room if need be.

I have been scrambling in life and have been aching to insert reading time here. But all the here’s have been full.

Until winter sunshine collection was suggested to me.

“Just 20 minutes. Maybe read a book…”

20 minutes of reading? Is that even legal?

I’ve been a cover-to-cover reader all my life. The stayer upper until the wee hours to turn the last page, even if with a half-conscious sigh and a slogging day of school or work ahead of me.

So truly, the idea of just 20 minutes of reading…I mean an hour minimum, right?

But in my current life and my priorities–i.e. my choices as I will not put the blame of my lifestyle on anyone else–carving out an hour is like trying to find a full bite of meat after Grandpa’d thoroughly excavated the Thanksgiving turkey carcass with his electric knife and cigar-smoked face of determination. Tupperware had burped their fullness and kids were left scroungeless.

But 20 minutes…

It hit a balmy 57 with full sunshine in a January heatwave and I bundled my top and bravely left my legs to the elements, and plodded outside into the still air and warming sunlight with a timer and a book.

And good grandma’s gravy, if that wasn’t a completely dazzling reading experience.

Of course, the 20 minutes came too soon. Reading a thriller, I gave myself the page and a half to the end of the chapter, and used my grown-up gauge of importance to actually close the book.

And then I smiled.

I felt wonderful.

Relaxed, accomplished–a bit chilly but in that been outdoors and proud of it way.

And I’d read.

Plus got the unseen ninja vitamin D. And again with the good gravy it would be nice to convert my legs into something closer to toasted as opposed to paste.

So, 20 minutes? I am in love.

And if outside is not an option, I will find 20 minutes in the sun through a window, even if I need to move a little furniture to fully comfy cat out–with my book and my time.