My favorite time of year

This morning when I woke up, the air was cold and crisp – the thermostat on the car said 42 degrees, and I had to dig out jackets for the girls to wear. There was a fine dusting of snow on the peaks of the mountains. My beautiful purple-robed honey locust tree is just starting to show the faintest hint of yellow. On the way to work, I saw a flock of geese headed south. There’s no denying it – summer is over – and I couldn’t be happier about it. I love the change of seasons, but most especially the change from summer to fall. I’m really not a warm weather person. I much prefer sweater and soup weather to shorts and snowcones. In fact, sometimes I think I have seasonal affective disorder in the summer, because nothing makes me more depressed than day upon day of clear, blue skies and hot, sunny weather (something we have an abundance of here – I know that I’m crazy). I actually get cheery when it’s gloomy and gray outside.

I think that my girls are catching on too. G right now is obsessed with the weather and seasons, and can hardly wait for the snow to fall (I think part of that is her excitement for a new, pink, fur-lined parka that I bought her at the end of last season). We really need to find a way this weekend to go for a drive in the mountains before the leaves are all gone, because once it really snows up there, the leaves will be gone for good.

There’s no way I could live somewhere that doesn’t have seasons. How boring would that be?