November. The sun’s rays come through the window and warm up the bedroom. Suddenly, the wool blanket feels more like an overbearing granny, overheating the area and fussing with excessive superfluity. The tree branches outside are static, reassuring me that the winds are absent and shan’t yet deliver their winter slaps. The sky is clear, powder blue even, and void of the menacing clouds that carry heavy rains or snow. It’s too early, I tell myself without a smidge of delusion.
Transported by these words!
Beautifully written, Nelly. Thanks for the stroll. :)