Memento
When I look outside my window the sun is shining. But I know better. Within that golden, ever-morning light is the frosty air of winter. I feel it in my bones. I become lethargic. Sweaters and thick socks are my dailor armor. Properly swathed in warm gear, my mind goes inward, too. Despite the well-intetioned holidays, I hardly ever make any memories during the cold season. Family get-togethers are muddled into one multi-year extravaganza (if T.V. watching can be called that). Mostly, my brain likes to re-visit a different time when days were much longer and things grew and we ate in the fresh air. There are a few leaves left on otherwise bare branches now. And when the grey wind picks up and scatters them at my feet I think of one autumn day in Cache Valley—a place called Richmond, home of Rockhill Creamery.
