Kids are back in school. Nights are getting nippier. Sweater weather is becoming more common. The leaves are dying and falling. As everyone bustles by on the busy streets, the leaves crunch so delightfully beneath their feet. It's finally fall!
Well, it is somewhere. That somewhere certainly isn't Texas. We've got beautiful sunny weather, not as hot in summer, but not really cool either. The nights are still humid, sometimes a little sticky. If we're lucky it will be cool enough out to be considered "nice". For some, this is heaven, knowing they'll never have to shovel snow or rake leaves again. For me, this is hell. I hate it, and I long to have my seasons back.
Having grown up in quaint New England, I'm used to having four of them each year. Our springs were windy and brisk, yet filled with a delightful splash of new growth, once things finally decided to grow, of course! The flowers came into bloom after a deluge of rain and all the snow melting. I've got fond memories of realizing it was finally warm enough out that a sweater was all I needed, and later in the spring delightfully casting that off as the days got warmer.
Summer was hot, but not brutal like it is here. The days were lazy and filled with the sound of "heat bugs" buzzing away. As a child, the summer was filled with swimming in the local reservoir, no longer used for drinking water, but instead to entertain the locals. When I had my own family we would go to the Frog Pond in downtown Boston or Revere Beach and wade with my daughter on weekends, enjoying the warm sun and all the families out and about. We would take walks in the Public Garden or on Boston Common, and then cram onto the subway when the crowds were headed to Red Sox games conveniently timed for rush hour traffic. In the evenings we'd sit out side in the cool, summer air, still sticky and humid, drinking lemonade and eating fruit from the local co-op. I particularly loved living in Salem this time of year, as we could walk down by Pickering Warf and enjoy the cool breeze from the ocean. Those hot summer nights were some of the best times I'd had, sitting on the front stoop with friends because it was too hot to be cooped up inside.
As the days turned cooler, we turned into fall, my favorite of the seasons. The leaves were all kinds of brilliant colors, then tumbled down to the street. With each step there was the satisfying crunch of leaves crushing beneath my feet. The air was sharp and crisp, with just a hint of frost later in the season. Pumpkins and corn husk decorations were everywhere. It was the season for baking, as it all came together for Thanksgiving, though that was usually more wintry than not. We'd go to the park and play as it was cool enough to truly enjoy it. Evenings were filled with long walks in the fresh, cool air, then we would come home to hot chocolate or warm cider. Those are the days I miss the most.
Winter came with it's own stunning beauty. Even when the snow had not yet fallen and all the trees were simply barren and dead, the bleary gray of winter had it's own light to me. Early on when all the Christmas decor went up, I found the season more delightful than any other. Even with the bleak dead surroundings, those cheery little lights seemed to perk everything up. Yes, it may have all been dead and cold, but there was a life brought to it. Then the snow came, and though I always hated the prospect of shoveling the miserable stuff, I did love the look of it. I can't count the times I decided to go for a walk, just because it was snowing. It was always so much warmer when it snowed, or so it seemed. The snow covered city looked so beautiful. Then came the ice, and while it made everything slick and dangerous, at the same time, everything glistened. I have to admit, during the day it was dreary and bland, but at night it was stunning.
Instead, I'm stuck with Texas. The summer is brutal. The fall and spring are mildly less so. Nothing ever really seems to die, and yet it does. The winter is like that of a desert, but there's none of the beauty of snow or ice. The cold doesn't stay for long, but is so unpredictable it's impossible to prepare. There's a delightfully long growing season, but by summer it's much too hot to garden. I'm realizing more and more how homesick I am for New England. I miss those seasons more than I want to admit!
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