March breeze blows through this December day, warm and wet and wild, like much-missed lover's kiss, taking with it vestiges of sun, leaving bonechill damp behind.
I protest and leave my ankles bare against the wind.
We venture out, grateful for gloves and BeachBaby's working heater.
The herrings pack the stores without benefit of sour cream to ease friction between unfriendly shoppers.
'Tis the season.
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