I'm allergic to fall. Now, don't misunderstand. I do not have fall allergies; I'm actually allergic to fall. This is a circumstance brought on by the fact that fall precedes winter, and I loathe winter. Note I did not say that I hate winter, rather, I LOATHE it. There are no redeeming qualities in winter. It's dark, it's cold, and it's miserable, roasting chestnuts and all. I am fairly sure that my loathing of winter may actually be a genetic trait, as my father feels the same way, but no matter from whence it came, my loathing is strong and eternal. I do not enjoy layers of clothes-coats and hats are the bane of my existence. I do not find snow beautiful, because I know that in just a few hours time it will be reduced to little more than discolored mush that mucks up my yard. And don't start with me on Christmas; I ADORE Christmas, and see no reason what-so-ever that it couldn't be celebrated in the lovely month of May (probably historically far closer to the birth of our Savior than dismal winter anyway). Therefore, I am allergic to fall. This condition creates in me a drowsy dread that lingers even on bright and temperate days like today. When the sun starts setting before eight o'clock I roll into my 'fall funk', from which I do not emerge until approximately February, when the days finally begin to lengthen and there is hope on the horizon.
For years we've said we are moving to Florida, the land of sand sun and eternal sunshine. It's a lovely dream, but one we've yet to make a reality. Every year at this very time we wake up and realize another year has passed, and we still live in the land of winter. Why is this? Why do we talk and talk about leaving fall and winter behind, yet never quite manage to make it happen? Maybe because it's good to have things in life that aren't perfection. It's beneficial to have as yet unmet goals. It's good to have falls and winters. Without them, would we really appreciate spring?