Seasons

How can I feel homesick for a place I've never lived? There's something disctinctly Manhatten about London at the moment. The way the cold is beginning to wrap its fingers delicately around my waist whilst the sun strokes my face. His rays have changed. They're blinding now.

I feel cold air on my skin and am grateful for cotton, polyester, rayon. I try on a wooly hat in Urban Outfitters - to buy it would be premature, but I play with the idea. Central Park on a crisp Autumn morning, auburn leaves scrunch underfoot.

In my head the seasons jump from summer to winter overnight. I'm expectant, as if waiting for a long-awaited visitor... I have the necessary objects ready: blankets draped across the end of the bed, black opaque tights and gentle knitted jumpers. I'll push three pairs of Havianas and two sundresses to the back of the wardrobe and move from pale pink to chocolate brown in the space of 24 hours. I'll dream of New York, steam coming up from the Subway, mittens wrapped around hot coffee... winter.