Today, I ate a perfectly delicious pear.
In this part of the United States – January usually means down jackets, snow pants & polar fleece. Normally, I’m batting the flakes out of my eyelashes & scraping the ice from my windshield . By now, I should have built a snow fort or two, gone skiing or sledding or sipped hot chocolate by a fire.
But this year, while the earth is firm under my feet, I can still see the grass.
We are at a threshold, neither in nor out.
So on this winter morning, as I slid out the door wearing short sleeves — a blue t-shirt against the white sky – biting through soft summer flesh seemed…wrong.
Delicious but wrong.
In subtraction, they would call it the remainder.
I’m tired of these remnants, the what’s left sticky residue of summer on my fingers.
Let it be winter or let it be summer, but enough of this in-between.
Can you tell I’m feeling grumpy and frustrated? How am I ever supposed to move to a warmer climate when the mere thought of moving to a different state all by myself brings on a full blown panic attack?