the. end.

I hate to admit it, but the days are shorter. The air is crisper. Tomorrow will be the last cookout of the year for most people. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for the sales at the mall this weekend, and the excitement over Halloween and plans for the holidays. But to embrace this time means to embrace the inevitable. The cold, the snow, the dead plants and trees, the dangerous driving conditions, the constant illness. That's just the beginning, though. Then there are the holidays and my birthday. Maybe if my birthday were at some other time of the year, it would be enjoyable. But no one except close family ever has time to come celebrate with me; I'm just an afterthought that's easily brushed aside in the wake of Christmas and Hanukkah.

Shivering when I climb into my car at the beginning or end of the day. Brushing snow off my windshield and roof. Jeans. Sweaters. Undershirts. Socks under socks. Snow boots. Heavy wool layers. Scarves and hats. Gloves and mittens. All those layers, just wrapping me in my misery and dread. No, I won't enjoy this holiday, which means the end of pleasant weather and freedom. Every year around this time, a little part of me dies. I don't expect it to come back to life until I live somewhere much warmer and further away.