I’ve written a bit about longing for fall. Or anything but summer, really. I know Arizonans get perfect weather eight months a year, but our summers are something to be endured, not enjoyed. At any rate, I spent last weekend burning pumpkin candles, baking bread, buying new sweatpants “just because,” and then obsessing over holiday decorating ideas on Pinterest.
I take solace in knowing that as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, it will get down into the 40s in just a few short months. I’ll be jumping for joy in my fuzzy PJs, while sipping hot cocoa and shivering. And it will be fantastic.
Although if I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the fact that by the time next March rolls around, I’ll be dying to wear sundresses and flip flops, and thanking my lucky stars I’m not facing weeks of shoveling snow and scraping ice off my windshield.
But that is then and this is now and all I want is fall.
One of my favorite writers, who lives in Florida, described the same phenomena in a recent post, and I love how she sums up her positive embrace of non-typical temps:
“I’m going to both enjoy what we have and create what we don’t have. It’s my specialty. How silly of me to have forgotten.”