Seasons

Seattle was dry for a glorious 48 days and though the gloom and gray and reliably constant precipitation could be partially blamed for my immigration to Seattle from Montana, I cannot say that I missed the rain at all. In fact, I didn't really even notice that it was gone. Rather, I found myself a little bit exhausted from feeling so happy all the time. I biked, ran, ate, walked, strolled, picnicked, swam, and lazed outside in warm, dry weather, just like every other person normally does during a summer season. (Granted, the warmth was only here for about two weeks, but after 2011's Neversummer, I'll take it).

Considering the date and the return of the rain, I suppose it's time to mourn the passing of yet another too-short summer. But, I don't know if "mourn" is really the right word because despite my undying love for summer and its related activities, I have to admit that there was something comforting in waking up to the sound of rain falling.* I actually found myself enjoying the process of donning my more than knee-high striped socks with my shorts for just a bit of extra warmth (let's face it, 55F is just a bit too warm for full pants but definitely too chilly for completely bare legs), of fishing out my bright pink waterproof rain jacket that keeps me dry and ensures that this city's incompetent drivers see me before they run me over, of pulling my gloves on instead of riding uncovered. And maybe, just maybe, dodging puddles and bracing myself a little bit against the sudden chill in the air offered me a bit of fun as I dragged myself through a sleep-deprived grog during my bike commute to work.

I was shocked to find myself gleefully anticipating the impending autumn. Anyone who knows me well will argue that this makes no sense. My common complaint stems from chills and I sincerely regret the fact that Seattle's summer can normally be quantified in hours rather than days or months (in my opinion, summer = time during which the temperature equals or exceeds 80 degrees Fahrenheit). But, bracing myself against the wonderfully familiar crispness in the air that comes with the fall, I began counting the ways that I love this season: the leaves becoming vibrant reds and oranges; the aforementioned refreshing crispness in the air; Halloween; pumpkin EVERYTHING; gorgeous sunsets; new episodes of my favorite TV show; my birthday...(oh God, my birthday!)...

The most pronounced feeling I experienced could probably be summarized as comfort. For me, autumn is comforting. There's something to be said about curling up into one's favorite down blanket after a long run in the chilly weather and busting into a good book while downing a delightfully sinful pumpkin spice latte. It's a cuddlier season because the days get shorter and up here, the darkness really does swallow us. By Christmas, we'll have less daylight than darkness, so we take to staying warm with each other and, in my case, decorating with excessive Christmas lights. Ultimately, though, I find comfort in the actual change of seasons. It reminds me that nothing ever really stays the same (myself included) and that with each new season, I'll learn something novel and I'll discover something worth my while. I'll read new books and see new movies and learn something astounding in my scientific career.

My point is that I will sincerely miss summer, but I'm ready for our new rainy autumn overlords because they signal that the world is still turning and that I'm still getting older and I still have the potential to grow into a better runner/scientist/girlfriend/friend/person. That, and they bring with them the pumpkin spice lattes.

*This statement is inaccurate. I actually woke up to a screaming fight at about 6:20am. About socks. Yes, socks. No, it was not pleasant. It's also a lot less whimsical than waking up to the sound of rain falling for the first time in 50 days. I took some artistic liberty here. Sue me. (Please don't sue me).