With the arrival of cool temperatures and shorter stretches of daylight, I spend the better part of my mornings and afternoons chasing sunshine. I want it direct and undiluted, beamed straight from the planet. Shadows, in these early autumn days, are comfortless cold spots, shrouded in gloom and I avoid them like a contagion. Sunshine is what I crave, bright, blinding sunshine. It’s my drug of choice — I’m a self-confessed junkie, desperate for relief.
Mid-morning to mid-afternoon I’ve no trouble scoring a hit; I quickly bliss out, tripping on the warm glow speeding through my veins. Sunshine seems to be everywhere then. But as sure as the sun rises, it also sets — earlier and earlier these days. And as the sun loses altitude shadows grow longer and deeper and colder. So I seek the open spaces, the ones offering the light and warmth I’m jonesing for.
Soon, however, those same open spaces will be torturous wind tunnels, concentrating the impact of arctic blasts. With that thought in mind I bought a new winter hat over the weekend. A thick, furry pillow to pop on my noggin in a desperate, all-out bid to retain a soupçon of body heat this winter. To my great chagrin, I found the ideal fit and style in the children’s department — suitable for ages 3 and up. Good lord, is that depressing or what?
On the upside, no one can possibly accuse me of having a big head, you know, in terms of an oversized ego. Well, they can, I suppose, but I’ll just whip off my tiny, little hat and prove them wrong. nert nert nert
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