What better topic than autumn to launch this year's 31 day writing challenge? During the months of falling leaves, the quality of light all day long makes my heart yearn for an unknown just as it aches with late afternoon shadows and shifting light any time of the year. I always love how fall signals a back to school new year, so September into early October is my real new year. Right now I'm technically not in any school program as learner or teacher, but as usual, I bought some school supplies including a couple of cute composition notebooks, a matching 1" binder, and got a 6-pack of folders from amazon vine.
I am so surely weary of people saying they like changes of season and informing me therefore they would not want to live in a place like Southern California. Evidently they assume our Mediterranean climate is unchangeable, and unlendable to different styles of attire. Because I've lived both places I honestly can compare my current place of residence to New England and the intermountain West with their marked seasonal temperature changes; I can tell those changes of seasons people we have almost as many chances to snuggle in warm sweaters and sleep under quilts as denizens of Massachusetts or Utah; southern Californians have the added advantage of always being able to get warm and stay warm.
Almost anywhere you live, each season has a distinct personality. It's never been a secret that summer's my favorite and best, July the month I never want to end. Winter means classier cozier clothes, more formal social and cultural events. Spring always carries the astonishment of new life out of darkness and apparent death. Summer? Feels like bring on the festive, romp in what's casual, saunter down to the beach, break out singing the blues, because the world is young, the planet's restless, it's carefree and no one's really blue at all.
Even as work and school start humming along on a regular track again, in other ways fall slows down. The season itself journeys at a slower pace than spring or summer; most people parallel that pace. Poets and novelists have observed how the year has matured by autumn. Fall has seen it all: the astonishment of new life during spring—surprise because we never know the rest of the story; summer's fruits, fantasies, and flings. Fall has learned death is not the end. Winter is one more way to wait for resurrection.