It's December, and things have suddenly got very cold. Without the usual build up to the end of the year that happens when you're working full time, the coming of Winter creeps up on you somewhat. Everything ambles nicely through Autumn, through September, October and even November. Then BAM, it's December and Christmas and New Year right around the corner and I'm all left behind.
How was it a year ago that I was eight months pregnant? How do I have an eleven month old almost-toddler with six teeth and a killer sense of humour? How did time slow down so much back then, only for twelve months to pass like someone blinked? Rory's life so far has spanned the four seasons, and now we're back around right where we started. I feel like I've crawled out from this cosy chrysalis and now it's cold and bright and everything looks different from when I crawled in. Half of me wants to curl up and say wake me when Spring is here, the other half wants to spread my wings and eat up everything this season sends my way.
Winter is coming, and so far it sure is pretty. I've said it before, but there has never been a day that hasn't rewarded me for getting up and outside before everybody else. Before the sun gets too bright, before cars or feet or paws, before daily obligations, phone calls or baby cries. It's so easy to stay indoors on these cold mornings, keep warm, fill your head with your to-do list and worry about Christmas and all the things you haven't got time to do. But some days when you remember that the leaves are covered in frost and it's so damn pretty and in half an hour it will all be gone if you don't pull on your boots and get out there to see it. Photograph it. Touch it. Just get the hell outside and see it. I think nature is my religion, I need to go worship at its altar every once in a while to keep my soul on track.