I’ve never liked fall. There’s just something not quite right about it. It’s supposed to be this cool interlude between the harsh extremes of summer and winter, but it’s instead become an excuse to eat and drink more pumpkin themed fare.
It’s become a Land’s End kind of time, where magazine cover boys and sparkly runway girls wear trendy sleeved ensembles instead of the sleeveless ones they wore just a month before. They drink overpriced lattes from Starbucks and hang out at malls waiting to get noticed.
I’ve got those autumn blues, the ones that stain my days orange and brown, like the leaves all over the previously immaculate ground. I see the birds flying, and I realize they’ll be gone soon, south to plantation land, to seek their fortunes. Fall as way station between the two best seasons has gotten old.
I love extremes because I know what to expect. When I roll out of bed in summer I know it’s going to be hot. I know that all day long it’s going to be hot, that I’ll feel the sun on my face, that I’ll be wearing shorts. And in winter I’m good. I know it’s going to be cold, that the harsh winds will comfort me. I know what I’m getting.
But in fall it’s the opposite. Each day is an adventure unto itself. I wore sleeves yesterday, and no sleeves today. Some days are hot while others are cool. Some days are even enigmas within themselves, starting off with frost and ending with a heat wave. I don’t like uncertainty. I never have. I like things buttoned up, the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. Autumn can’t do that for me.
So I’ve always despised it. It’s like the day after a holiday. When is the next one? Why do I have to live through that day? It’s a humongous letdown after something so pure as summer, a poor servant in waiting to the stupendous winter that is waiting in the wings. It’s confusion and chaos in the middle of perfection.
And yes, I like pumpkin spice lattes as much as the next person, but just like with egg nog… you can drink it year ’round. Get with the program, fall.