Most mornings lately I’ve lingered on my front porch a few minutes longer than I should, breathing deep the easy autumn air that’s started slipping into the early morning hours. I thrive with a hot cup of coffee warming my hand, with steam working its way into the knit fabric of my favorite cardigan. Yet, with the week’s cool weather came a nasty cold and the reminder that days will soon be shorter. There is no such thing as a perfect season.
Too often, I think, we expect seasons to be our saviors. If I can just get through this month, we bargain, things will look up. And sometimes things do. But when we put stock in a new season to save us, we fail to appreciate the importance of the last one. This year, as August turned to September, I felt relief at the end of a long, heavy summer, while managing to name the ways the summer shaped me for the better. And though I’m still not over the magic of fall, I’m seeing the new challenges that this season will present and recognizing that I still have growing to do.