In Minnesota, summer must be treasured, savored. It’s kind of exhausting by the end; there’s this manic running around to fit in that last bike ride or swim before it’s just too cold or too busy. Winter, by contrast, must be endured. The first snow is magical, but the 50th just feels cold and wet and like a lot of shoveling.
In fall and spring, I feel like I can live, rather than rush or survive. I love the in-between temperatures and the smell of difference in the air. I love the feeling of newness. In fall, I love the start of school and the sense of renewed interest in work. The summer has served its recreative purpose, and I am ready to see the value in the daily “grind.” In spring, I love the smell of green things hiding under that last little bit of snow, and the sense that I have made it through something. I am tough, and winter is over.
It’s funny: I’m a person who generally resists change, but the seasons of change are my favorite.