It is 9:31 pm on Saturday and it is uncharacteristically quiet in my home.
The sounds of my fingers hitting the keyboard is reminiscent of a brook, tucked away in the backwoods, behind the Log Cabin I haven't built yet, on the land I will probably never own.
I find that today, I am quietly mourning the absence of Winter in New York.
There have been no snow days.
No backaches from shoveling.
No snow angels.
No snowball fights.
No need for hot chocolate.
No vacant stares into the night, transfixed by snowflakes falling in front of the streetlights.
I haven't once uttered the words, "don't eat the yellow snow" to my daughters.
Not even a trace of the scent of a burning fireplace hangs in the air.
Hell, even Carvel is still open but Carvel is always open, so I guess that doesn't count.
Why is there no Winter?
I wore shorts and a t-shirt today.
My Sweaters weep pathetic woolen tears every time I open my armoire.
"Stop crying you sissy Sweaters!"
"But you have forgotten us and besides, it's terribly hot in this armoire."
"I haven't forgotten you Sweaters."
"Then why leave us here to sweat with the corduroy pants?"
"It is not I who has forgotten you Sweaters. It is Winter that has abandoned you."
"Why would Winter abandon us? We are but Sweaters in an armoire."
"I have no answers for you Sweaters. Just be grateful you are not sleeping with the mothballs."
I suppose Winter has someplace better to be.
Perhaps the Bangles are also quietly mourning the absence of Winter, whilst counting all of their money...
Leaves are brown
And the sky
It's a hazy shade of Winter.
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground." - The Bangles