Snow, in the morning

I have been awake for half an hour and the light is now slipping through the drawn curtains. It says snow on the forecast, is snowing, light snow. It took me thirty minutes to to open a curtain, look out. They weren't lying: snow. This isn't what I'm used to: snow before December. I have been coughing for four days now. A throat, off and on, in pain. I thought I had escaped it until, inexplicably, a day of proper fall sneaked in to the early winter. Seventy degrees. Warm. And then waking up the next morning to the familiar chill, the threat of snow. My body couldn't take the disappointment: it settled in my throat, my sinuses, my joints. This rapid change of seasons.