I love the change in seasons. More than the others, the transitions of winter to spring, and summer to fall are fatally beautiful. The air changes. I neither mind nor especially like the dying of the leaves and all the browns and reds and oranges as opposed to greens. It's funny, for a life based so completley on sight, it's the other sences that I love about the change. I love the smell of the hickory fires burning in fire places, the sound of the wind crackling as it passes over the fading grass, the chill of the wind at night, and the warmth that you wake up to with the biting cold right outside the blankets. Best of all, I love how the air feels fresh. In winter the air is dead and harsh, in summer it is asleep and heavy. The air wakes up in fall, though. It is alive and thin. Crisp.

I guess it's the fact that winter and summer seem to last for so long that makes them dull. If it were the other way around I'm sure I could rant about the perfection of that one hot day where you can walk around without shirt or shoes and tan within minutes. I could praise that perfect winter day where there is a layer of snow just deep enough to play with and a hot fire indoors, but even that fire with the hot cider and roast pecans that accompany it give more nostalgia for Thanksgiving and late fall than they do for February. The real beauty is in the Autumn.