Why does it continue to surprise me, year after year, that I love all the seasons in New England? Each March it seems that I can't bear to see one more muddy, dreary snowdrift pushed up against a curb, or to button my coat against the bone-chilling cold one more time. Just when I think I'll go crazy from the endless grey skies and cold winds, the daffodils outside my front door peek through the ground. I welcome spring and all its signs of new life. Spring leads to summer, and in June and July, I am certain that summer is my favorite season. I want summer to last forever. I love the feel of the sun on my skin while I run in the mornings, or work in my garden, or go to the beach with friends.
Suddenly, September sneaks up on me, and I notice that the first of the leaves have already turned. I reach for tights to put on with my skirts, for flats instead of flip-flops, and for favorite scarves that have been put away for the past four months. I remember that I love fall - that maybe, in fact, fall is my favorite season. It rains while I'm driving home from Boston, and I turn off the radio to fully immerse myself in the sound of the rain on my car roof, the rhythm of my windshield wipers, and the nostalgic reminder this is of autumns and winters past. I want to have a mug of hot tea the minute I get home, to curl up under a blanket with a good book. And as I think of that, I think of winter, and how nice it'll be to have snowfall in a few months, to make hot chocolate for the two of us to enjoy on the occasional lazy morning, to read on the couch with my favorite grey fleece pants to keep me warm. And there will be Christmas, as wonderful as it always is, with Christmas concerts to play and Christmas music to sing and joyful times with family and friends. Come February or March, the snow will become mixed with mud and we'll all long for the sun to come out. Spring bulbs will finally poke their pale green heads above the frosty ground, and the cycle will go on as it always has.
The arrival of each season surprises me, year after year, with its beauty and charm. Just as I'm growing a bit tired of one, the next one sweeps me off my feet.
Summer of 2010, I loved you.
I love autumn in New England.