My toes tingle as my eyes open. Waking up in another motel in Canada. The sun filters in lines through my screened window, drifting across my face.
It's so late in the day that I kick the covers off of my legs in the heat. The mirror across from me reflects my bedhead. I've never been able to wake up like a princess, my long hair poofs up like a lioness mane in my sleep.
It's frigid outside. The kind of cold that freezes the tip of your nose and fingers. I've not thrown a hat on over my lioness mane. The forests and falls won't care how my hair looks.
