Brisk

Brisk. Comes from the French, brusque. Sunday morning bike ride to Beverly was brisk. If I wish to use an adverb 'brutal' might be a good one. Brutally brisk. The temperature was low enough to make the thermometer's mercury even shiver. But it was the wind that brought out the briskness to its fullest expression. I think I was especially apprized of 'brisk' when I got to the Beverly Bridge and the wind kept any pedaling out of the question. Even the hat must be removed. For this reason: the wind was wicked enough to snatch a hat off the head and deposit it into the Beverly harbor as quick as the drop in this morning's mercury. Thus the hat should it fly would not be very retrievable. All this to say, the walk across the bridge, yes, was brisk. It waked every nerve. It made one think of how lovely must be equatorial living. It made one think of a grass hut in the Amazon as being quite a nice place to spend a January. Ah, then once in the warm home of friends I was not convinced any more by numb feet, stinging hands, watering eyes that equatorial living was as attractive as it was moments ago. After all cold can be comforting. Mosquitoes, cockroaches, crockadiles, man eating cats are rare in the brisk climates. Ah, yes, in a house where the heat is cranked I'm forgetting all about glaciers following me across the brisk bridge of Beverly.