Seasonal Senses…

Therapeutic Misadventures

Bone chilling cold. Sweaters wrapped tight are a bulky armor. The news is full of places with worse complaints, like five feet of snow in Buffalo, NY. My short commute is dark but dry. Soon it will be crunchy, slow and slippery. The ten minutes of pure joy, driving over the back mountain to watch the sun set over Monadnock, is a memory.


So senses become focused on the close at hand, the minutia of wrestling wood into the house to burn, the gloves now necessary to grip the freezing steering wheel for the trip home. I love driving into the garage and smelling wood smoke. Dogs and cats who are used to spending their time outside in the sunshine are wagging and meowing by the door to get out into the chill. They do not stay long but they can never seem to coördinate their arrival back at the…

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