There's romance in winter and underground car parks. The ice-box quality of the concrete walls, floor and ceiling. The promise of the city above and the daring gamble placed on whether children will behave or scramble to throw legs over the side.
Or about when we over do it and colds threatening to take hold necessitate family snuggles and snack cups on the couch.
The places I find tiny play scenes on those days when the rain buckets down so hard I'm afraid we'll be washed away if we poke our heads out the door. In the heart of each season there is a period where it's too something. We're here now, loving homemade soup and under the table cubbies, movies that are not Frozen (mine aren't into it. is there something wrong with us?), and puffy jacket/red nose trips between car and indoor destination. Hurry, hurry, too cold for dawdling.