Our lot shuffles about a bit. Chasing winter, then summer, then winter again. Winters are winters and summers are summers with bits of southern hemisphere winters mixed in, sending our circadian rhythms into a mini tail spin. Add in a little back and forth from global warming and it becomes harder and harder to know what season it is or should be never mind what month. Autumn in Aspen.
But autumn has always been the one season I could count on. The leaves change, the air smells of damp, decaying earthy things, the days get shorter while the world cozies up for winter. September in SF.
But this fall, my first in San Francisco, feels like summer. Not the Indian summers of my New England youth but like the California summer I expected in August. Yeah, yeah I know that saying about the coldest winter I ever had was my summer in San Francisco but now it’s September and beautiful and sunny and doesn’t feel or look a thing like fall. While I’m not gonna complain about sunshiney days and standing beside the Pacific and its greatness there’s a piece of me that yearns to hear the leaves crunching beneath my feet and misses the rust colored vibrance of an autumn hillside.
So yeah, here’s to a new kind of autumn and any day that’s sunshiney regardless of season is fine by me…