Every year around this time a feeling begins to stir. A tiny part of me deep inside begins to panic.  It has been this way ever since we moved to New England.

Around my birthday, the world around us grows cold, and the days become shorter.  This never happened in Florida or California.

Here in Massachusetts, it does.

From the moment I wake, it is a race against time, a race for light.  Both of which appear to be slipping away.

I know it is just part of the transition from autumn to winter.  But as the sun tucks away sooner, and as the few remaining leaves dangle above, part of me wants to hold on.  Latch onto the thin shirts hanging in my closet.  Step out of the shade and chase the flecks of sunlight along sidewalks.

Before the season completely overturns, I always feel inclined to soak in as much of the brisk air as possible. Embrace the world around me with the flesh of my bare hands. So I can remember.

Before the cold arrives and blankets it in snow.