My Favorite Time of Year
I don’t really have a favorite season–I like witnessing the changes, both the dramatic ones and the subtle ones. As winter segues to spring, the leaves return to the deciduous trees, the grass has a certain glow about it, and the view of the city seems a little brighter. As spring melts into summer, the sun makes a major appearance, more skin is exposed in societally acceptable apparel, and the sunsets are spectacular. The transition between summer and fall is the most subtle, as the tired looking city cleanses itself free of the summer smog, lingering warmth makes an open window at night very enjoyable, and grumbly kids go back to school.
Of all of these, I find the change from autumn to winter to be the most dramatic, and the most fun to watch. The leaves are more than half gone now, littering the ground in a fabulous array of reds, yellows, greens, oranges, and browns. Just yesterday, I remarked to the druid as we stood at the bus stop, “Wow, that is a very vivid red,” as I pointed at the fallen leaves of some not-maple variety on the sidewalk. Walkways, sides of roads, the detris is everywhere. I remember raking the entire backyard of my childhood home one year, just so that my sister and I could jump into the pile. We didn’t really get what all the fuss was about, but I can say I participated in that, err, tradition.
Now that the leaves are gone, our view from the treehouse on the hill to the city below is broader, and for the next few months, on clear days, we’ll be able to enjoy the views of Mount Hood and Mount Saint Helens from our balcony and the living room grand window. For almost seven years I lived just west of the looming shadow of Mount Rainier and grew accustomed to having a volcano in my backyard, as it were. I find the view spectacular and awe-inspiring, and I like being able to see a bit of my old homestate from Portland. It reminds me that I’m not too far from “home”, as it once was. I’m silly like that.
The mornings are crisp, and usually feature dramatic and tall cumulus clouds that traverse multiple atmospheric layers, the kinds of clouds that Bob Ross could bring to life with a fan brush and white, blue, and purple pigments. (Did you ever notice he never “beat the devil” out of the fan brush?) It reminds me of chilly walks to school through the quiet playground at the community park between my home and the campus, and of my newspaper route, and waiting for the bus to take me 70 miles away to college or work each weekday. I love being awake in the early morning, it feels as if it is mine alone. And it’s a little bizarre to see the sun rising a little more south each day.
November tends to be reserved for NaNoWriMo, and so the transition to winter gets me in a very write-y mood. It also gets me in a tea-y mood, which may or may not be related. There’s nothing I like better than curling up with the laptop, or those antique tools the humble pen and paper, and going nuts with story plot bunnies, lists, outlines, postal letters, and other such things. My handwriting tends to improve this month. It’s also the month I am most likely to buy a fresh pad of paper, and splurge on gel pens just because I like the thick, sure lines they give me.
This time of year, I’ll be brainfarting end-of-year gifts for friends, things I can almost justify getting for myself, and how to get people together for shared meals and shared experiences, be it a movie, or a trip to the Powell’s, or anything else we might dream up and agree on.
I mourn the loss of fresh fruit produce at the store, but I love the cooler weather, especially when I have the clothes to keep warm in spite of it. It was this time last year that I was just getting to know the druid better, which consisted of loitering at his work long after the sun had set, and passing the night in his rapt and amusing company. We’ve rarely been apart since. I never dreamed then, that a year later, he’d be living with me, that I’d be sitting at my computer one morning and contemplating the season as he snores contentedly behind me.
