The last hours of the Thanksgiving weekend. Curled up with books, in the lamplight; Rob in the chair in the corner, me on the new green sofa. Outside it is cool, and damp; the temperature has tested two degrees, overnight, the days have hovered around 12 or 13. You can sense the world turning through a golden fall toward winter. But for the next few days we are promised a reprieve, a look back over the shoulder: lows around 10 or 12, a high tomorrow in the early twenties.
It has been a weekend of food and laughter and conversation. We have dined with friends each of the three days of the long weekend, and feel it. Tonight it was leftovers, and tomorrow, too. So much feasting. A pause in the year’s hurrying footsteps.
I did the math this morning; 39 working days before I board the plane for South Africa.
Things to be thankful for, and much to look forward to.