One of my favorite things about the Midwest are the defined seasons. Summer is humid and sultry, fall is crisp and colorful, winter is frigid and frightening, and spring is usually rainy. They all bring the promises of what is to follow. It seems as though just about the time we start enjoying the weather or the state of life we are in, it changes, and something new is on the radar. Or in many cases we just trudge through a season with the hope of another. We expect the seasons to change, this season, however, is different.
Summer seems to be lingering on. The 80 degree, sunshine filled days are still rising, but I am noticing that it reflects upon my desire to look ahead, make different plans and make new memories. While the humidity trickles in so does my lack of enthusiasum to move on to fall. As I am still sleeping with a fan whisping in the background, I wonder when I will start wearing sweaters and close-toed shoes. It has been a long, and for many, hard summer. I am grateful for my warm-weather days, but I want to see colors on the trees and I want to see a change. I want to see a change more than with just the weather, I want to experience a change of place, change of political jargon, or maybe I just miss having warm soup and tea.Perhaps we expect and want the seasons to change because we are constantly changing ourselves and it is a little easier to do if we are able to alter our wardrobe.