A Memory

It has been a warm summer but all it took was a flick of the tail from Hurricane Bertha to sudden bring Autumn.  Someone online mentioned the days of having frost on the inside window pane and I remembered this:

The house I grew up in was 200 years old.  Built by the man who owned the house next door and although meant to be a weavers cottage at one point even served as the jail.  By the time my parents bought it, a few months before I came along, the windows had been enlarged enough to encourage some sparkling patterns on cold days.  The windows were deep set, enough for the window sills to serve as seats.

I had a picture book about Jack Frost painting on window panes during the night, in the morning I would sit by the window and with my fingers I'd melt my own drawings in to the designs.