Today the sky is a brilliant blue, the sun a radiant yellow. Outside it is 82 degrees. Not much humidity. The lazy days of summer beckon. Through the open door, I smell the fragrance of late blooming flowers and freshly mowed grass. As my husband steps out onto the deck, a warm breeze caresses my skin. I ache to join him there, to bask in the glorious warmth of this last day of August.
But I’ve played too long. The book must be finished. I must return to it.
So I take a deep breath and close the door. Nudge up the air conditioner. Turn the blinds. Then I plant myself in the chair and mentally handcuff my wrists to my laptop.
I shut my eyes. Project myself back…back into a time of no computers, no electricity. Back into a 19th century Midwestern winter blizzard. The air conditioner kicks in but, in the distance, I imagine it is the howling wind. I shiver. Almost there now. I reach for my cup of coffee to warm my cold hands. Almost.
When I write my next book, I must figure out how to better coordinate the seasons.