One hour outside

I have been sick. Which, for the most part, keeps me at home.
All feverish and snuggled up and sniffling over here, I’m appreciative that I have a safe and comfortable place to withdraw to as this has not always been the case.
But being here so much gets me yearning for being outside, for having the drive that puts me out the door.
And I think about how sheltered I am during a regular week when I work and how, Monday through Friday, I’m outside only when in transition from one place to another.
Weekends, sure, are a free for all (last weekend when I was healthy I walked and played on a frozen pond and dillydallied in a park, climbing on an icy fountain… not so worried about weekends).
But this five day per week outside-deprivation makes me wonder what would happen if I made it a point to spend some time outside every day. What if I scheduled an hour? Doable, right? Yet thinking about this modest amount of time, one hour out of twenty-four, a non-transition hour, a time where if I walk I would walk to walk and then walk back or walk to remain at a plaza, a park, a trail, a shore, or an outside… I think of just an hour and I’m a bit overwhelmed. Can I do it? Do I have the time? Do I even want to? Isn’t this a ridiculous thing to aim for? But isn’t it good for me to be outside? An hour outside, an on purpose hour, feels like an unsurmountable committment. Ridiculous! Am I not an animal? A part of nature? And a Monday through Friday hour outside sounds so hard?
Oh summer, where are you?