There's something about the end of the year that I find, well, strangely joyous and sad at the same time. Maybe it's the winter, which I do like better than summer. (Anyone who has spent a summer in Eastern North Carolina can attest that the winters are far more manageable).
As I left work today, I felt just that crisp bite in the air, with a scent that was almost as if you could smell the twilight clouds. It reminded me of when I was lost in Warwick, England with two good friends. We were coming home from the castle and took a wrong turn. As we walked through the dark, empty, cold streets (dark at 5 p.m.), we didn't feel fearful or frightened, but I remember looking at the glowing windows of the pubs and alleys.
I wondered who was in there? Who was meeting someone? Who was getting "chatted up" at the local tavern? I felt as if I had walked into a story that was not mine, but a tale that I so desperately wanted to become a part of. I heard the peals of the Warwick Cathedral bells, and felt at the same time, so alone, so peaceful, and yet at the same time as if I were walking down the streets that have been treaded upon by thousands of years of unbridled humanity....
...not sure what this post was about...but it was just on my mind.
I felt the crisp, cold, dark winter air and thought of England.