It’s going to rain all day and never get out of the 60s. Sounds perfect, especially if you’re someone who still remembers summer, and I do. I’m all in for this sort of weather. For lack of a better term, things feel soft. Plus, all the plants are still green. Maybe they think it could be spring again, although it’s more likely the genetic code knows better.
Winter is coming, I’m all in for that too, because I still remember summer. Although, I know eventually the perspective will change to one of longing rather than the current feeling of gratitude that it’s gone. That change is a curious thing. It makes me think perhaps that the beauty of the seasons is best found in the interface between one and the other. Between the coming and the going. Because that’s when you know you’re still alive and there’s more to come.
