For the first time in ten years, I find myself wistful that the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting colder.
Winter beckons her long, pointed icy finger, and this time I am loathe to follow her down her icy path of starry skies and crisp, foggy moors.
I don’t know what it is. Is it the fact that social distancing has made me anxious to be indoors around other people? Is it the fact that long, bright, heady evenings are now gradually departing, leaving sudden darkness in their wake?
I don’t want to welcome winter. I want it to be summer all year around.