Four Seasons Before Dinner
The morning started cold. Not the kind of cold that surprises you in winter—but the kind that lingers a little too long into a season that was supposed to have moved on. The air carried that sharp edge, the kind that makes you pull your jacket tighter without thinking. The sky looked clear enough. Pale. Quiet. Predictable. You step outside expecting the day to unfold the way days usually do. It doesn’t. By mid-morning, the chill begins to loosen. Not gradually, but noticeably—like someone adjusted a dial too quickly. The jacket comes off. Sleeves get rolled. The air softens, but not in a way that feels natural. More like a shift than a transition. By noon, it’s warm. Not comfortably warm—unexpectedly warm. The kind that makes you second-guess what you wore, what you planned, what you thought you understood about the day ahead. Sunlight presses down with a quiet intensity, as if it skipped a step getting there. You glance at the sky again. Still clear. Still calm. But something feels… o...