The weather lately feels like a moody teenager, swinging wildly between seasons: a hot, sunny morning one day then a raging rain storm lashing at my windows the next.
In Vermont last week, the air was crisp and cool to match the fall foliage. I drove home by way of the Hudson Valley, spending a few days with friends. I needed a wool hat to counter the chill; we spent the evenings outside in the hot tub, steam rising in the cold air, or camped out drinking wine around the outdoor fire pit. And yet today, buttery sun is pouring in through my windows. I wore a t-shirt to run in Central Park. The clock at Columbus Circle read 72 degrees at 10 AM.
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