Winter Solstice Writing Garen
Dinner is a source of happiness, and maybe television is as well. I was watching tv, eating a bowl of Rana cheese tortellini ( I had browned some butter for the sauce, sizzled garlic and cumin in it before sprinkling on nutmeg and Parmesan— for instant noodles, it was quite tasty) when I realized with clarity my contentment. It wasn’t the dish in my hand, or the program on the screen ( the last bit of the final Gardener’s World for the season, in which apple- heavy trees and the last of the dahlias crowded the garden I had been watching since the Spring, and through the Summer draught) but the realization that when I went to bed, it would be on fresh sheets I had made my bed with, along with a winter comforter. The season tipped towards November, and though the day proved t-shirt balmy, I was readying for the eventual cold. Soon, we would turn the clocks behind, and the frost would be commonplace on the car windows. Soon, the march towards the shortest day would begin, until the light returned to early mornings. I was ready for the seasonal shift.
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