Living in Florida as we do, we love winter. Granted, we don't have "winter" the way a lot of people have WINTER. Winter to us is the season where we don't sweat quite so much and can be outside without getting drippy and bug chewed.
The rest of the year we use the magical and wistful term "come winter." Come winter--we'll hike and kayak more. Come winter, I'll cook soups and stews. Come winter, we'll sit in front of the fire and drink cocoa and read. Come winter we'll finish cutting down that fallen tree and burn the branches and cook hot dogs over the fire. Come winter I can drag out all those handspun scarves and hats and wear them. Come winter . . .
Winter is that long-lost love that shows up in town for a few short weeks every year. You relish your time together before it is gone.
Come winter . . .
Only we find that we are still saying that when it looks like this outside.
You know those old romance movies where the two lovers meet every year--and then one year one of them doesn't show up? We're feeling jilted. We had a couple of cold snaps (and one really cold day) and that was pretty much it. I got out *one* sweatsuit. One scarf. Never wore my gloves. I'm not sure that we ever had a whole week that the temperature didn't reach 80.
It's the winter that didn't happen. We feel cheated.
It's supposed to hit 85 degrees tomorrow. Sigh . . . .