It’s December. “Holiday time” we always called it. The memories of childhood are illuminated as I recall the days when frivolity was in the air, and if we were lucky, snow days gave us a reprieve from school when sleds packed the big hills and children’s voices were the only sounds that filled the chilly afternoon air.
December feels different now. Quieter. Lonelier. Climate change makes it less frigid, and red mittens in the twilight worn by ice skaters returning home at day’s end to mugs of hot chocolate, are nowhere to be seen. The jubilation feels less jubilant. It’s a softer season now. I miss the sounds. The bells. The clamor. The jingles.