We’re on the cusp of October.
It’s my month of peak denial: summer can’t be gone yet.
So I try and fight winter in odd ways.
I’ll refuse to wear gloves when cycling.
I’ll venture out in a t-shirt.
I’ll “forget” to check the forecast.
But, inevitably, the cold bites.
It forces my numb, ungloved hands into submission. It warns me via a shivering episode to pack an extra layer.
And yet I still like winter wrestling.
It’s the summer bug in me in its last act of defiance.