Fall

“Fall is my favorite season,” someone pipes up. I’m stunned. How is that possible? Sure autumn is gorgeous. The leaves are spectacular. But fall represents, well—death.

Everything dies. Animals hunker down. The days get shorter, the darkness longer. In Utah, you have to wear a hoodie and ski socks if you’re going to sit out on the back deck. And you better do that before we roll the clocks back because then it’s pitch black by 6 p.m. As seasons go, fall forebodes doom.

Sure, Halloween is a fun day. And Thanksgiving: a beautiful holiday about families and nourishment and hearth and home. And football. All good things.

Admittedly, winter has its charming moments. That sparkle of fresh snow in the sunlight. The view of evergreens from the ski lift. The pleasure of giving during winter holidays. But, people, it's cold! Cold enough that you need to wear boots and gloves and maybe even a scarft to step out and get the mail.

I like the sun on my face. I like light, warmth, and flip flops. I like seeing swim trunks and beach towels come through the wash—it’s how I gauge the success of a summer week. And summer vacation is three seasons away.

So I’m battening down. I’m focusing more on my craft. Logging more time at the computer. Hoping the next few months pass quickly. Because once it’s spring, summer is just one bright, hopeful, beautiful season away.