I think September has a similar feeling to March. A feeling of waiting, mixed with mild subconscious excitement. In March, I get planting fever and buy millions of peat pots and seeds. I can’t wait to wear tank tops and soak in some Vitamin D and smell the flowers before the bugs come out in droves. I listen for the cicadas to start up. Now I think about the novelty of putting on a sweater after so many months of heat and humidity. I picture myself by the fire pit, all of me chilled except my face which is pressed as close to the fire as possible. And my hands too, because let’s get serious, I’ll be roasting marshmallows on a stick. Snuggling under a down comforter with BT, watching movies. Walking down a cold street holding a cup of hot chocolate. Listening for the train whistle, which is always more noticeable in the Fall.

I don’t think I could ever live somewhere without seasons.