It’s August 15, and there is an undeniable whisper of fall in the air. I tried to ignore it when I felt it last week, but it seems to be waking up with me every morning. It’s kind of nice, but I know what it means, and that’s most definitely not nice.
I have realized in the past several years that I am no longer a four seasons kind of girl. Having grown up in Connecticut, sledding down the hill across the street, ice skating after school on a local pond, and learning to ski late, in high school, winter was fun. I didn’t mind the snow and cold. I rather liked the fashion ski jacket options. Praying for a snow storm that would cancel school kept things lively.
But with a wonky back, I can’t ski or skate anymore, and so my use for winter has been disposed of. I am all about summer. I have always leaned more toward the sun and sand than the snow and cold, but now it’s a more lopsided affair. It’s getting so bad that I will probably have to figure out what to do about it soon, as in perhaps living somewhere warm more of the time. New England just doesn’t give me enough of the sunny days I need, seeming instead to allow old man winter to show off for months and months at a time. If winter would just vanish after February, everything would be just fine. But it lingers, and waves its damn flag sometimes right through March and into April.
Anyway, I’m grateful for this day with its cool start and forecasted warm middle. The air feels fresh and clean. The light is clear and pretty. I’m not going to think about winter I’ll think about that tomorrow. Scarlett had it right.