December not only brings clouds to our feet, or wool to our breasts, December also brings shortbread, my birthday, whiskey, eggnog, and lots of wistful thinking. Some folks spend August longingly remembering their days as a babe. Some folks, spend May. For me, December will always be the month to kindle thoughts of my childhood.
When the snow shows up, I feel like a little one – wearing bows – wanting to roll my hips into snow piles – wanting to drink hot cider – wanting to be bundled by scarves – or by arms.