I had been holding out. Not wanting to move from the purple wool coat to the puffy down. There’s no where to go from the puffy down coat. It’s the warmest coat I have.
I walked through the farmer’s market, the greens covered in icy frost, reached for parsnips and carrots, my fingers pale and numb.
We won’t be back ’til spring, said the woman collecting cash. Tyler and I are at that particular stall every Sunday and even in October she is bundled in a hat, mittens, and her own marshmallow puff coat, mummy wrapped in multiple scarves. We always tease that she must be from a warm climate. It’s a wonder she’s lasted this long.
Here’s a gift for you. And just like that, I was shepherded into winter with sweet potatoes in my hand.