I dread swapping the wardrobe.  Pulling down my pretty summer dresses, the light flowery cottons and the spaghetti-strapped powdery blues, my pretty orange sandals with the splashy earrings that match, to be replaced by the winter dulls.

I heave up the thick black wool sweaters, long underwear for those super cold days, and the tights, the endless parade of tights.  Winter is dark and heavy.  It is inside; I like it outside.

I like to go out to my garden and clip some roses, throw them in a vase with velvety Mexican sage, their soft purple petals like little jewels against the rose buds.  I like the heavy perfume of jasmine which hangs in my back yard like a sensual fog, sweet and alluring.  I like the sound the sprinklers make every morning and each evening at dusk, the cocktail on the patio, the flavor of summer.

These days I turn my attention inward as the weather goes cold.  I peel the butternut squash for a spicy bowl of soup, pull the thick crusty bread in half, shave a little parmesan.  Its a different season, a season of cardamom and ginger instead of limes and tequila.