December in the Desert

I wore a sweatshirt this morning while I fussed outside.  My hands were delightfully cold when I finished my chores.  My legs, in shorts, were fine.

I miss the snow, but not the shoveling.  I miss the crisp cold air, but not the breathing.  

And now, for the next few weeks, I'll get to wear all my sweaters and sweatpants and wrap myself in the cozy blankets strewn around the house.  

We can sleep with the windows open, listening to the trains, miles away but clear in the cooler air. 

And the little birdies are back, on their way hither and yon, topping for a snack in the crepe myrtle.  If I open the door to take their picture, they'll fly away.  So, look at them as I do, from my desk chair, through the screen.

Or, through the curved window up above.

They remind me to stop and smell the flowers.