One day it was summer, and the next it was fall. The autumn equinox was a gray, chilly day; I lit a pumpkin and sage candle in my office and listened to the sound of rain patter while I worked.
A week ago, we had our windows closed with the air conditioner on. I wore sun dresses and bare feet. The day before the equinox, we threw the windows open. I wore long sleeves with summer skirts, or short sleeves and jeans. We kept the windows open for about three days, and now they’re closed again, this time because it’s too cold to have them open; it’s 42℉ (6℃). I’m wearing slippers, socks, running tights instead of shorts, and a sweatshirt. I bought canned pumpkin for impulse baking. I’ve started to think about when it will be a good time to have our first fire in the fireplace.
I miss the ocean, but the seasons where we live take away some of the sting of not being by the beach. We seem to be at just the right latitude and altitude to get the best of what seasons have to offer: autumn leaves and crisp air in the fall, occasional but not oppressive snow in the winter, flowering trees and tulips and daffodils in the spring, and a wild profusion of lush green and flowers and butterflies in the summer. The seasons here change like clockwork on the equinoxes and solstices, they each last a full quarter of the year, and just when we tire of one, the next one is here.
Except winter. I’m done with winter after a month. Basically after Christmas. But the full three months sure makes me appreciate spring.