All day the temperatures had hovered in the mid-70’s, and the night brought them just a smidge lower. The air outside was somehow cozier than the air indoors, and that gives title to this post. It may be a quieter post, as that suits these gentle days. I’m glad for the reprieve – November can be so cruel and cutting when it lets loose the lower temperatures.
In the evening, the chirping of crickets is still to be heard, and I leave the attic window open as I type out these words. We will accept this weather with grateful and appreciative hearts. A bow to the universe, then, and a song for this sepia Sunday.
Such soft light for a Sunday night. Strangely out of tune with the Novembers that I remember. Maybe I’m no longer remembering well, or maybe I just want to remember November as something harsh and cutting, to make the brief respite of the holidays feel a little warmer. These are the dangers of the tricks we play on ourselves. Misremembered moments. Forgotten pockets of relief. The way the nights come quicker, but the days feel brighter in the immediate absence of the tree leaves. We will each remember this differently. Trying to find something that resonates with anyone else suddenly feels like a fool’s errand. The mind turns on itself while making the attempt.
