The cold came back, because of course it would. Even though the sun was warming our skin through our thin sweaters for most of the past month or so the calendar, and the tilt of the earth in relation to the sun can’t be fooled.
So the heat is turned higher and the blankets are unearthed from cupboards and chests and hot chocolate is purchased in bulk.
Frost. I’ve missed frost. I’ve missed the way it bends the leaves.
My words aren’t that pretty today. The truth is I’m locked inside my office at work on my lunch break, and am trying to enforce a new writing routine into the questionable content of my new day-to-day. I have no crisp words of indelicate wisdom to impart, no knives to cut into flesh. Just me. Just this. Just the quiet of this small room and the soft glow of this plain lamp and the hum and roar of the furnace. Outside the door things are starting to churn again.
My grandfather’s funeral is today and I cannot go. My family lives in Ohio and I couldn’t get away from Tennessee. I am trying to be stoic like my father, but also remind myself that it’s okay to show my tears on the outside like my mother. Our grandparent’s deaths are dress rehearsals for our parent’s inevitable departures, and that’s what’s on my mind.