Whenever this time of year crashes in, it always feels as if it just happened five minutes ago.
And here again, this convergence of merry lists full of foreign sounding stuff and dressings of cranberry and pine colored lights littering all corners of my place. And the fierce clench of frosty weather that wrinkles the leaves to pulp and menaces away the daylight for months on end.
No more mojitos on sandy decks. No more bare feet scrunching up hippie grass. No more running in shorts. No more luxuriating under fly ball pop ups. No more ‘top that!’ diving board games. No more Simon and Garfunkel really meaning it. No more sitting on the porch and taking my time with a cool one and a good book. No more kissing in the rain, playing time to a standstill.
Winter thieves my favorite places, but it can’t steal that feeling of a Sunday morning. At least not that.