I stood on my porch this morning, taking in the drizzling dramatic tantrum winter is having outside. Maybe it’s everything going on, but I couldn’t even feel the cold or crispness. In the past, I’ve written about my love of fall and miserable weather. I romanticize the crispness of mornings. I describe the cold air’s contrast against the warmth held within my grasp, a mug of hot coffee.
Those mornings held glimmers of my past. The feeling of that crispness is attached to a good morning. It brings optimism and hope. I hope my mornings return like Ol’ Reliable. The change in the winds is eerie. I wouldn’t say I like it. At least my coffee remained in hand, giving me a glimpse of those other mornings. Reminding me of it.
