So many at this time of year “can’t wait for fall.” My wife loved autumn, for example. The crispness of the air, the decaying foliage’s bright colours. Apples and cinnamon.
What fall really consists of, in these parts, is about three weeks of happy, bright pumpkin-time… followed by 5-6 months of drizzle, of ballbag-slapping cold — punctuated by long periods of torrential rain.
Blissful thoughts of autumn are soon in the rearview mirror, as we huddle with our cat(s), our dog(s), our turtles, our loneliness; the howling wind rattling the windows, the spirit-crushing chill seeping through the cracks. With the emotional rollercoaster of the holidays over, many peer out into the strength-sapping gloom – the starless black – and pray for the arrival of either spring, or the grim reaper. And it doesn’t really matter which one. Anything.
So, let’s cut with the bullsh*t romanticism of the third season. It will be here soon enough, with it’s tenuous, half-assed promise (sometimes, a complete lie) of eventual rebirth, renewal. Enjoy the sun, while it’s still in the f*cking sky.
