What will it feel like to be cold again?

5:40 a.m.

The wind is still hissing through the screen in the window. I pull the red sheet, and black and white floral duvet cover tighter around me on the tan couch. Outside the blackness is turning gray. I begin to make out the trees just outside the window. The forecast said rain, so the grayness merely becomes lighter.

I close my eyes.

6:05 a.m.

I turn to face the living room wall.

I close my eyes again.

Sleep won’t come.

Time to stop resisting this overcast Tuesday morning on Shelter Island.

Dan has already left for work, and Bri is still sleeping. I quietly sit up, wrap the sheet and the blanket around me, and go sit in the yellow and red floral chair next to the window and the antique floor lamp.

I continue reading my book.

I hope the light won’t wake Bri up. The air smells crisp and clean outside. The wind sends a chill up my back.

Journeying to the island from the city Sunday afternoon I distinctly remember the single drop of sweat the made it halfway down my back as I stood holding my large black overnight back in the stifling Union Square Subway station waiting for the uptown 6 train.

I remember thinking, “What will it feel like to be cold again one day?”

It will feel like a couch on Shelter Island, in a small guest house that sits adjacent to a larger home which is the part-time summer residence of a British SciFi Network producer. I’ll be wearing a purple wool sweater, and thick green socks.  The day will be overcast, and I’ll wish the smell of coffee wouldn’t wake Bri, because it certainly would be a nice way to warm myself, as I can’t seem to be able to pull the window down.

Portland was over. Summer now felt over.

7:55 a.m.

Bri’s awake. I can safely put the coffee on as we ready for our Montauk adventure.