An evening jog through streets warm with light and fireplace smoke.
Holiday parties. The bites are buttery, the wine is free, and the conversation is like tinsel, shiny and fun.
Coming home from school on a rainy afternoon and baking butterscotch oatmeal cookies to enjoy with vanilla tea and Barbara Streisand's dewy sadness in “Funny Girl.”
The inspiration of craft fairs, where I realize that most of the impossibly hip yet woefully overpriced feather-and-collage-laden treasures can be made by yours truly. I've got the glue gun, the materials, and the motivation; now I just gotta do it.
Riding my bike through warm blankets of cloud and fog.
The promise of the luxurious, indulgent, seemingly endless Christmas break, closer each and every day.
I love the coziness of a lit-up tree peeking out of a living room window, even though on the car-ride home it looks more like a carcass.
That feeling of being nestled in at the bottom of the year, the darkest time, where fall goes sliding into winter and Capricorn comes to rest, at last.