The daytime temp in our house has been holding steady in the low to mid 60s. In warmer climates, I know, 60something is akin to frostbitten appendages, but I actually like it with a quick nip in the air. I think it keeps me more alert, busier. (Perception accounts for plenty.)
We finally had our first fire of the season a few nights ago. And while I fence sit about the dry, parched heat it creates, the crud it scatters across the floor and needs me to sweep, I am foam fingers in the air and fight songs rah! rah! rah! about what it means to hang out in a room, with my family, by a fire. The children roll around on rugs, in blankets, as close, but not too close. There are books, and talking, and watching (flames). It’s not remarkably different than any other evening around here. Just warmer, in every way.