Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I am an autumn child. I revel in the kind of weather that burns my nose and frosts my toes, that forces me to tromp around in sweaters and boots, that brings with it a level of chilliness that makes it feel perfect to be snuggled under the covers -- preferably with someone snuggly, lately an unusual occurance for me -- that makes me give the envious stinkeye to people sitting near fireplaces in restaurants. Today, where I sat working, there was a cold autumn breeze blowing over my toes occasionally. I liked it. It made me nostalgic for the smell of rotting leaves, the noises of kicking through them, the feel of the first night that makes one long for fuzzy gloves, the pretense that walking with his arm around me and mine around him has something to do with the temperature and not something more personal.