December 10, 2016, North Central Florida

It is just after midnight. Freezing temperatures tonight — perhaps, the coldest of the season thus far. Outdoor plants have been covered with sheets making our yard look more like Halloween than Christmas. The night streets are unusually quiet — maybe the cold has kept the end-of-work-week revelers in their warm homes. I lay in bed, cozy under a tattered apricot-colored quilt, too full of memories and too snuggly to discard. My husband, asleep for an hour or more, lies on his side and breathes softly with our cat curled comfortably in the crook of his legs. In the hallway, our 12-year-old Pekingese snores loudly, which is why he sleeps in the hall and not in our bedroom. The heat pump, a Southern version of a furnace, hums and rattles outside our bedroom window. Winter in the South.

I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.

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