Autumn was rough.

I am not going to lie. The temperature was up and down and all over the board. We had trees dropping needles (STILL getting used to that and STILL cleaning it all up) and blooming all at the same time. We had sun. We had rain. We had sleepy eyed lizard blinking up at us from under the dense ferns asking if it was spring, hungry mosquitoes convinced it was summer and dogs refusing to go out because it was “too brisk.” We were in hats and gloves walking in the morning, and short sleeves and sun glasses dining alfesco by the wharf at lunch. It was quite the identity (and wardrobe) crisis.

Winter is here, according to all of the calendars and charts I have consulted, and she seems to be content and settled (at least for now) in the mid 70s.

So we count our blessings and take our coffee, or wine (depending on the time of day), and head outside. We comment on the trees, wonder about all they have seen in their lifetime. Wave to strangers as they pass by, chat about the weather with neighbors (balmy is the word of choice) make friends with the lady a few streets over with the little brown dog (Daisy.)

We look at each other and we smile.

We beam.

We knock on wood.

We toast to everything but mosquitoes.

We toast to things not yet proven.

We toast to taking chances.

We toast to the sleepy eyed lizard sunning himself on a rock.

We toast to small dogs who pace by the door not sure if they trust what is on the other side.

We toast to each other and doing the research and to blind faith.

We toast to this moment, this place, this winter.