The chill that tonight’s rain has dragged in startles me. The sultry summer has seared away my hearty New England upbringing rendering me completely unprepared for the impending snowy onslaught ahead. I lay here repositioning myself frequently, trying to type while wrapped in a blanket and periodically warming my frigid fingers with my hot breath. This technique is normally put to use when your outside during the wretchedly cold months of January and February not when nestled snuggly in one’s bed.
Secretly I’ve longed for winter. Romanticizing the season with fantasies of candlelit evenings in front of the fire sipping hot chocolate, and hours of snow-bound adventures and play has been a hobby of mine since mid-August. My heart rushed at full-speed having woken to the sounds of geese making their annual departure two mornings ago. My window was cracked slightly and their fairwell honkings roused me to elation at the thought of cold air following them. I must have forgotten how this air feels…raw…nakedly raw and damp.
Perhaps this chill itself is taxiing a cynical passenger. And the next cold snap will gingerly usher in a more optomistic air…one that arrives with warm cider and spiced cake just in time for turkey. Or maybe winter will crawl in burdened with a nasty wayfarer that touts heavy wet snow, the flu and icy walkways and surfaces that beg me to slip and crash to the ground spilling my pumpkin spiced coffee all over my new hooded, cashmere sweater.
As much as I like to wistfully dream it will be the former it will probably be the latter. Or maybe I am just overreacting to the staggeringly sudden change in seasons. Nevertheless, the air out there cautions me with a song…
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