slip through the cracks
Yesterday somebody stole my umbrella from a hotel lobby. It was a beautiful little blue umbrella with a wooden handle.
Yesterday it was also storming like crazy in New York. That cold, finger-curling kind of storm that requires gloves, heavy coats, an umbrella. After my hotel fiasco, I had none of these. Every awning became my refuge, I puddle-jumped from one to the next trying to keep my wet head warm. Even worms don't like this kind of rain.
This was when my heart began to thump and I knew: it would be time to take out the sweaters from under my bed. Being a Pennsylvania girl, I am used to some brutal winters. Pittsburgh never spares a real Fall or cruel Winter. Many of my childhood memories are filled with seasonal motifs, jumping into piles of leaves, autumnal reds and browns, catching snowflakes on my tongue, trudging uphill with a plastic sled. I know seasons. And while I have had dreams of San Diego's year-round weather, it just doesn't have the same magic. There's something about packing up sandals and pulling out boots that brings a thrill to my heart.
Seasons mark a very tangible change. They allows us to let go of something (bye bye bike rides) and reflect. They're an opportunity to start anew. And while I don't like catching colds or crying through the flu, I do like a bit of cool air to slip through the cracks of my window pane. And that feeling I get when I sit, cocooned in a blanket, while the cold frosts the gravel. Nature making change, marking change, turning like the air in our lungs. Breathing here, here, here, breathing: here!
