Last Tuesday we spent our last day at the Barefoot Beach Preserve, chatting with visitors about the shells and gopher tortoises. Today we huddled in our hoodies and watched the snowflakes intermix with the rain on the windshield. In the market this morning I joined the throngs of shoppers stocking up for the predicted snow storm. Everywhere hats, coats, and boots but not a smiling face to be found among them. And the person behind me in line wafted a distinct odor of Ben Gay.
I struck up a conversation with a pleasant looking shopper in the very long deli line, who actually parted with a smile and a laugh about how winter was returning with a vengeance. I never dared mentioned recently returning from a lovely stay in the Gulf, fearing I would be smeared with mustard and ketchup, rolled in generic brand cheerios, tossed in a cart and propelled abruptly into the parking lot by a band of very cranky New Englanders. It was just that dismal.
Monday I walked the Parklands, crunching through the ice and snow, sliding in the mud, wishing for the white sand and salty water. Next year you can bet we will rethink returning home in March!