In summer I always long for Winter.
I want to wrap myself up into an indiscernible shape of scarves and shawls and pretend they aren’t just blankets that I’m wearing.
I want to sit inside while it rains and knit for hours.
I want to cuddle next to that specific man who will let me read and pour me more coffee when he gets up.
I dream of sugar plums and wooly tights.
But in the winter the novelty runs out quick. I get tired of wet socks and dry heated rooms.
In Winter I always long for Summer.
I want grass between my toes while I lay under a tree looking up at the changing negative space between branches.
I want to play in water under the sun with a paddle and a boat, in a current, on the sand as waves brush up to my manicured feet.
But summer looses its appeal as I overheat in the humidity.
In summer I always long for winter.