When I came home from Portland at the beginning of summer, it was raining. It was glorious after the 30+ degree weather. I revelled in fall.
But then it didn’t stop raining. It wasn’t very long before I felt the season settle heavy on top of me. And that was before the season had officially started.
Fall is full of my favourite things: Thanksgiving dinner, big pots of tea, sweaters with boots, long days doing nothing but reading. The past few seasons have changed, though. Colder than normal; longer than normal. The darker seasons are becoming an ordeal to endure rather than a hibernation to enjoy.
Even when the sun is out, the wind still blows. I had closed my shutters this summer because the sun was shining too brightly, then realised it had been weeks since they were open. Now my apartment is too cold, and I’m bundled under the covers in bed.
No season is perfect, I suppose. All I can do is enjoy the good things and fight against the bad. I painted my nails yellow today, small gesture to the clouds. I made a pot of tea to go with my book. I cracked the shutters to let the light back in.