Fall is fading slowly into early Winter here in the Northeast. October's blaze of color has flickered out, and there are Christmas commercials on TV. Right around this time of year I start wishing it was May ... six months away, glorious May! When all the flowers come back to life and the snow, ice and early dark are mere memories, stored away with the woolens for another year.
(To be perfectly honest, it is true that snow has fallen here in May before. It's an anomaly, a beast whose name shall not be spoken).
I'm not a Grinch about Christmas, I'm really not. I just know it's going to be a long time without warmth, sun, blossoms. Inevitably, I begin to paper my imagination with images of Spring. Radiant, sun dappled flower pots, the blush and brilliance of the new season, prettiness everywhere, the nearby walk past delicate Lillies of the Valley with their heady aroma ... all of it freshly unfurled. Full of promise.
The return of Life!
I suppose this is my version of Sugarplum-spun visions. If I'm lucky, they'll last 'til Valentine's Day, when all that pink and red and chocolate revive flagging spirits. Knowing Spring will absolutely come around helps me clutch at my scarf and hold on to hope.
Come July, I'll be longing for Christmas ...