a may morning made march

Overnight, it became cool again: a May morning made March. {Such alliteration!}

People who sleep with their windows open woke up burrowed into the covers. As their feet hit the hardwood floor, they gasped in, a sharp intake, a shocked intake—where were their slippers?

The floor was ice; they must have their slippers.

Whoever thought they'd need slippers to keep them cozy against floors of ice on the last day of May?

The gray day makes everyone think of November. Yes, that's it exactly: today is a November day, the gray kind that makes us appreciate the golden sun, bright blue sky days of October more—in retrospect. It's always more in retrospect; when will we appreciate more in regular-spect?

This is no time to think of that now, that deep and pressing question digging in to your side like that jab you sometimes get when you run too fast.

This is no time to think of how you could be appreciating every day more; the floor is cold, you've found your slippers, and your armchair by the window is ready for you.