Winter has been blissfully absent this year. Normally, November finds us bundled up in our hats and scarves, trudging already through snowy sidewalks and slushy streets. But this year, the Old Man let us enjoy unseasonably warm weather for weeks longer than we should have. November came and went with sporadic spring-like temperatures, allowing us the luxury of wearing our light sweaters and jackets far longer than we're used to. Men still golfed, women still wore open-toe shoes, everyone held onto their short-sleeved shirts just a little bit longer. It was scrumptious, feeling the warm sun in the middle of November, leaving our coats in the closet , untouched, when we knew that we should be wearing them.
But suddenly, this week, Old Man Winter woke up and realized he late. His alarm hadn't roused him in mid-November like it was supposed to, so he scrambled to get ready and get out there. He rushed in, in a haze of blustery winds and biting chill. He relieved spring-like weather of her duty, abruptly switching our temperatures from mid-sixties to below freezing in one overnight shift-change.
With the first gust of cold wind, we knew that the Old Man's best friend, Snow, was just around the corner. And, sure enough, the Old Man assured her comfort by turning up the cold and setting the skies gray. She flurried in late yesterday, cozy in the early nighttime provided just for her.
I drove home slowly, avoiding the inevitable piles of snow and sloppy accidents her first fall always creates. I crept past my house and down into Milford, where I picked up supplies for the first snowfall: Dinner, and Pinot Noir.
Getting home, I changed out of my work clothes and into thick socks and cotton pants, a warm sweater over a t-shirt. I ate my dinner in the silence of the kitchen, then plodded upstairs, full glass of Noir in my chilly hand. Sunk in blankets and the glow of the TV, I cozied up to my wine and let her fall outside. I didn't bother her, or complain about her arrival, just heard the quiet she makes, the softness that she instills, ready, now, to face the Old Man and all his friends. He was, after all, overdue.
Getting home, I changed out of my work clothes and into thick socks and cotton pants, a warm sweater over a t-shirt. I ate my dinner in the silence of the kitchen, then plodded upstairs, full glass of Noir in my chilly hand. Sunk in blankets and the glow of the TV, I cozied up to my wine and let her fall outside. I didn't bother her, or complain about her arrival, just heard the quiet she makes, the softness that she instills, ready, now, to face the Old Man and all his friends. He was, after all, overdue.
2 comments:
First snow! That bottle of pinot noir sounds just perfect. If we get any more snow here, I may follow your inspiration.
Hmmm, maybe that explains why summer isn't here - when it's supposed to be summer in New Zealand! I would normally be swimming in the sea by now.
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