September

It's blustery and cool here in Chicago, the harbingers of autumn. After escaping the heated, sweaty grip of Florida, it's a welcome change. However, I can't help but feel some trepidation as my little city cools down. Undoubtably I'll blink and that fluffy white ice will be floating from the heavens, all too eager to leave my pale face ruddy.

But this winter, I'm prepared from the beginning. I'm now a one year veteran of the Chicago seasons. I know what to expect. I understand the neccessity of a healthy dose of vitamin D on those grey mornings that dissolve into grey days and grey weeks. I have a coat, I have a small collection of scarves, and I have a selection of hats. Bring it on, Chicago.

But I've skipped an enitire season, my favorite if I may say so. Fall. I come from a land where every tree is an evergreen, where we don gloves when it's 60 out. Florida doesn't do fall. Seeing the foliage erupt into red and yellow figurative flames, is an experience I can't imagine I'll ever tire of. There's a tree near my apartment that is one of the most magnificant sights to behold. It's this skinny little thing. It's leaves are sparse. But when it changes for fall, it's the most vibrant tree on the street.

It's a day like today I half wish I was still unemployed. I could take my netbook and sit in a park, get some lazy writing done while I soaked up the last few rays of summer. But I suppose we must all pay our dues before we can have such a lovely existence. Hopefully the thought will drive me to work harder.