Yes. As summer progresses, the days are noticeably shorter, which I hate. Summer is so bold, associated for me with the fearlessness of youth, the adventure of travel, the tastes of fresh foods – shortening days seem like approaching mortality.
Fall especially can be so beautiful and so ephemeral; the smell of fallen leaves and wood fires, the biting snap of cold air, the saturation of the reds, yellows, and oranges of the changing leaves. It makes me want to do something wild, something impulsive.
Winter feels like waiting, so I never mourn its ending.
And then spring is bursting with life, with potential, like a new beginning every year of our lives. I lay in the hammock, the air too chilly to be out except for the way the sun warms me, winter-pale skin soaking it up. I spend hours with my hands in the dirt, investing, working, hoping for what I will receive when he season changes yet again into summer.