When pressed to pick my favorite season, I tend to muddle through a response that makes me sound like politcian courting both sides of the coin. Usually I say that I prefer the autumn and spring best. Except that I love winter holidays and I really do enjoy summer days at the boardwalk, in the pool, long stretches of sunlight. . .no school buses on my commute. You get the idea.
Lately, my favorite season is autumn. Namely because we're in the midst of it. I've begun to drag my sweaters from their storage boxes. I pulled up a bed of impatients and replaecd them with mums. (I know that photo is barely focused, but I love it just the same.) I even picked the giant pumpkin to display on the front step.
At one point I thought that perhaps it was as simple as I didn't have a favorite. And ok, so yes, that's true. Yet I've now come to realize why.
I'm in possession of a restless soul that grows easily bored.
There are certain things in my world that don't ever grow tiresome - mostly people. Relationships, if you're lucky and wise, evolve constantly thus avoiding the "staleness" that wreaks havoc.
Yet other things in my path. . .they are not safe. Sometimes small modifications soothe me. I can paint the kitchen and rearrange the living room to calm my restless itch over the house. I can clean the collection of jackets and toys from the van to make it seem almost new. I can even take long breaks from hobbies and then reacquaint myself with them as a means to shake things up.
Mother Nature gets me. She shakes up the seasons to help my spirit. I do love summer but after several months my garden loses it's appeal. The last crop of tomatoes often sits unpicked waiting for me to muster the motivation to harvest. The attire in my closet and drawers starts to seem drab and unexciting. I begin to long for something new and different. The routines, the rituals, it all begins to wear thin. I start to yearn for something different.
And then autumn enters.
The closet changes over. The garden begs to be pulled out. The flower beds rotate into something new. Nature starts the great process of metamorphsis and the nights arrive earlier. Suddenly it's a new ball game and I'm revitalized by it.