Winternacht

Cold air is just made for walking at night, bundled up in a long black felt overcoat, snuggled down into a baby-soft cashmere scarf, hands in pockets, shuffling down empty streets beneath a stark, fat moon like a character from a Leonard Cohen song. On cold nights, we are all gifted with rabbit ears, as sound, unfettered by the baffle of humidity, travels fast and far to bring news of things unseen. The chicken-chatter of children, the suspicious report that sounds like gunfire, but is probably only a taxi backfiring. The cell phone conversation on the fire escape, and the fight in B-12. These are the nights for which neighborhood bars with fireplaces and Irish coffee were invented. Comfort food is mandatory.

The Good Stuff:

Long weekends

More leaves on the ground than on on the trees

Fall colors

The sorting hat

Confessional poetry

Passing the phone at Thanksgiving

Getting organized

Tipping points

Poinsettias

Big pots of spaghetti