But, come Sunday, that is so not the case. I have been in love with the mornings. Walking up into sunlight and walking out into the sunshine, even when it was really cold, I still love(d) the mornings as long as the sun was peeking out.
Now it's like Spring all over again. Spring in November, can you fathom that? It's absolutely click-your-heels-in-the-air magical. I know, I know, it isn't going to last. But then again, when does it ever last? Like I was saying, indirectly, in my last post, things are constantly changing. And now, because it had been so eeking cold bordering on "Oh no, winter is coming whimper whimper", I am so entirely prepared to love this bout of warm weather. Now that's called relativity.
As I write this, I look out the window again. And guess what? Isn't it typical that the sun has gone back in hiding, and the entire sky is a thick blanket of woolly grey again? This is the grey that sets into the bones and instills that ah no life is bleak mentality. But that cannot take away the little whispers of wind that come and tickle your earlobes, and caress your cheeks warmly; the memory lingers exuberantly like the traces of a loving kiss that sends a thrill through you every time you think of it.
It gives you a reason to smile. It certainly gives me that much more of a sparkle.
