As the falling leaves drift by our windows here in northeast Ohio, a new level of panic begins to simmer along with the pot of soup on the stove.
We call it winter coming.
And no more dreaded than this year.
Usually way up here just south of the Canadian border we start trying to make peace early on with the months-long tempest soon to blow in across the icy Great Lakes.
We start talking as soon as Halloween is over about cozying up with our favorite blankies. We imagine crochet projects, reading or writing poetry, catching up on Bronte and Baldwin and getting acquainted with our shadow side.
Only thing, COVID had us at been there, done that in April.
I've already learned two Buddhist chants, bought a ukulele, stitched 14 scarves and a blanket, drawn in my meditation coloring book, sung karaoke by phone, become comfortable wearing a mask and learned to live with my worst self.
What I'm craving more than anything now is face time.
With somebody's other than mine.
This was challenging enough, and yet more possible, in summer when at least we could be outside (masked and distanced) together, pretending we were at a garden party on the back deck - almost like in the good old days, when Corona was just a beer.