Not in New York

Living in the tropics, one does not often experience frosty afternoons.

Sweltering in the humidity as you race around turning off air conditioners and fans before tearing down the stairs to the taxi waiting to escort you ever so slowly through the treacle of traffic to work, you do often miss them however.

Growing up in upstate NY yields its share of fabulous frosty afternoons. Always at a different time of year. Sometimes it would be right around Halloween. We would wake up that morning, excitedly planning the evening’s terror, look out the window and see wee blades of green sprinkled castor sugar white.

“Don’t forget your scarf!” Mom would call as we grabbed our coats to stand at the end of the driveway and wait for the big yellow school bus.

Being kids we ignored her of course, running outside to feel the crispness against our skin and cloud windows with our breath.

A heart or two was drawn there.

Yes, frosty October afternoons were always the best.

December frosties were disappointing if they didn’t turn into a full-fledged blanketing of white, into which we would dive and create angels or our own frosty snowmen.

Looking out the window of my Blue Bird taxi inching its way through the morning mess now, I smile. I miss frosty afternoons. Here, frosty only happens artificially, in the air conditioning.

Not in someone’s heart. I remember that as well - when I learned frosty doesn’t occur only in weather.

That, I don’t miss.

So while the tropics are humid and the only frosty afternoon is an unnatural one, I prefer the warmth here.

Though it is not inconceivable I will one day once again draw a heart or two on a window pane frosted with my breath. 

Jasmin Webb