I had forgotten the delicious feeling of a cool, fall breeze on my skin. The last several Septembers I’ve been in the desert in order to break from the lasting winter I know is just around the corner.
But this time of year is so delightful. I found myself today at the stoop of my friend’s building, basking in the perfect duo of zephyr and heat.
Each brush of wind rolled over my body like a memory, and reminded me of the beauty in that freeze that I so frivolously took myself away from. I reminisced on the way a heavy snowfall would soak up extra noise in the city, and leave it blanketed in beautiful quiet. Or the way it would delicately caress every surface outside in a layer of fluffy rosettes.
And as if the wind knew the effect it was having on me, it continued on. Each brush like a tender kiss from a past lover, and the memories that come with it. Like the hold of his hands around mine, and his hot breath blown against my numb fingers, before tucking them into his own jacket pocket. All to share our warmth in the cradle of frozen air that accompanied our walks around the city.
The last time I lived here, it was that deep love that kept me. I think the cold activates the warmth of romance out of necessity. Because it’s easy to romanticize my past in this cold place while it’s the best time of year. So I stood from the stoop and made my way back inside, forgoing the fantasies of my return.
Since I know that if I decided to stay, and concede to this tempting breeze, the bite of November would inevitably come, and leave me begging for reprieve.
I spent 20 winters here, of which the ones filled with love are the ones I look so fondly upon. Since what else but love could serve as respite for the sometimes bitter feel of Minnesota?