The forecast was for a low of 48 degrees; the thermometer said 54 at 7 o’clock this morning. The wind is blowing; the cats are dashing from tree to tree. I have two reactions to the wind.
Understandably, I want to hunker down. I want to bake bread, make soup, and get out my turtleneck shirts and my puffy jacket. I want to plant bulbs, in anticipation of next spring, and clean up the drab flower and herb beds. Having acquired bazillion spools of ribbon, I want to figure out what I can make with them, how I can use them to facilitate the passing of winter. I want to make a Christmas list, plan Thanksgiving dinner.
On the other hand, after the lethargy of summer heat, I’m invigorated by the chilly autumn wind. I dream of wandering, seeing new places and people. An ongoing dream of a motorhome, a piece of home I can take with me and the cats, going south in the winter, up to Canada in the summer, entices me. Just drive away from the drama and boredom of day-to-day, see new places and people. Charm folks, them move on, without having to apologize for any inadvertent, awkward comments I may have made.
Of course, that takes resources I don’t have, so hunkering down ain’t a bad alternative.
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