Autumn in temperate zones is stereotyped as a season of melancholy. Leaves fall, flowers die, and all that one can anticipate in the short run are the harsh snowstorms and brutal cold of winter.
I used to go along with that common perception. But I now come to realize how adaptable my mind can be. We are very fortunate creatures. Given basic minimums of food, shelter, and security, we can indeed make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven, or a nice month of November.
The days grow shorter, the sun weakens, but the crisp brilliant daylight is glorious. Cold removes not only flowers, but also insects. And, mostly, the short days and new outdoor requirements bring welcome fresh perspectives on just about everything.
That is, after all, why so many people claim to love living in a place where there are seasons. Especially now when our daily lives and pleasures are relentlessly similar no matter what time or place.
I welcome snow storms _well the first snow storm, anyway. Nothing like it in July.
And mostly I am grateful that I can still appreciate the weather, the climate, being an animal in a fantastic universe. Hardly a melancholy moment in sight.
HuntingtonHarborThoughts 