Late November
Late fall is a rusty crown on tree tops as the first white dots cross the sky line and disappear on the cracking pavement. The first lights twinkle in branches and building tops as the sun sets. Our breath takes shape in the air. I remember this feeling; the first snow, the cusp of winter. The anticipation of what’s to come - the cold nights and warm lights and the scrapbook moments.
Today is laden with memories of another day. It is a slow motion reel playing on the walls behind us as we talk about how things have changed in the last two years.
A day spent with her reminds me of a weekend two years ago, with cold and winter hanging in the air of another city, another country. London, 2009: an adventure in small indulgences. Champagne, high tea and the best of brownies. A misguided attempt to walk the city in brand new heels. A failed venture to eat dessert for dinner. A hilarious experiment in balance on ice; we were skating at the Tower of London and she fell when I fell, to laugh with me on the ground.
In late November, I think of how time passes. How can London be two years ago? How can we be where we are now? How are we going where we’re going?
Late fall, or early winter: it’s the first of many snow falls. A different country. A different day. But still an adventure in indulgence, filling the walls of spa with the same chatter, despite the “Silence Please” signs all around us.
London, england, friendship, life, winter | Hezabelle November 17, 2011 | 
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