I woke up early Sunday and heard the lions roaring across the river. My balcony sits about a quarter of a mile from the lion grotto at Brookfield Zoo.
The sound is pure power. It reminds you that there are teeth in the world that can rip your head off. I’m safe because they are zoo lions. If they were wild along the banks of the DesPlaines, I would be dead before sunrise.
The irony here is the lions aren’t the ones caged, I am.
Caged by routine.
Caged by comfort.
Caged by the steady hum of a predictable life.
I have never lived in a jungle. Standing in a trading pit during a fast market is insanity, but it isn’t a jungle. Taking the Lake Street home at three o’clock in the morning is a risky move. Still not the jungle.
Today is Tootsie Roll Day. I never have been a big fan of candy that hurts your jaw when eating.
Let’s get this last week of February safely in the books. It has a forecast with a winter bite to it. Still not the jungle.
Especially when you have a remote start on your car.
