Suddenly, it's cold.
Before I knew it, an early November rain gently swept most of the foliage off the trees.
My roommate rearranged the living room so the couch is perpendicular to the picture window. Now as I relax lengthwise on the couch, my television image is the natural setting outside.
I see a gentle breeze flutter dogged oak leaves. Steely blue clouds drift by that demonstrate the onset of cold. My toes feel cold, too. We are drifting into winter.
In my silent house, I hear the refrigerator motor and the oil furnace cycle as heat wafts up from the radiators. Occasionally I hear sounds from the road below.
The crisp air motivates natural reflection as daylight wanes and we all turn inside our homes to prepare for winter.
Six months ago, the oppressive and stifling heat was starting that would persist through the summer. Daily I drank necessary gallons of water while I sat and typed and launched my new business.
A year ago full of idealistic notions and underlying fear of being unemployed, I drove myself fiercely to carve out a living as an entrepreneur.
A year and a half ago, I worked for a company with a deep private resolve to gracefully break free on my terms.
Two years ago, I was engaged and my cats lumbered daily around my home.
New Hampshire will soon be blanketed in snow and many of us will huddle beneath quilts with hot cups of tea in our hands.
And some, like myself I am sure, will launch ourselves into freshly fallen snow and brave the immediate chill that leads to slowing breath and the sound of ones heartbeat and the security of winter's frosty embrace.