I would capture and preserve this particular combination of sunlight and breeze.
No one ever told me how much. It’s the hot flashes mainly– an innocuous term for the sudden conflagrations, wild tempests of heat and drenching sweat, followed by all over clamminess and chill.
But it’s also the end of fertility that it signals, the final nail in the coffin of childbearing possibility. Because even now, even substantially years after the conclusive fertility clinic failure, I still retained the tiniest spark of hope. And now. This red-faced scalding insult to injury.