Lackluster
I don't like fall. It's a portent of rainy weeks, cold days, and the slow glide into shorter days and winter dark. I don't like fall ever since I moved here. It's a lackluster fall, where the greens slowly fade in the rain. It seems fall begins in October and ends in March, when it slowly turns into spring. I used to like it when I lived in Boston. Though it meant the end of long days and summer warmth, it also meant cooler weather to be able to wear a nice, warm sweater. It was also the beginning of the school year, when I would discover new classes and teachers, though that was a short-lived joy. But, above all, fall meant leaves. Orange leaves, yellow leaves, red leaves, brown leaves. Flaming orange-red leaves, yellow tree tops, and green bottoms. It was nature's fireworks in the sun, lasting forever, and granting you new displays as you passed by parks, yards, and solitary trees. We lived near the Arboretum and some years we would go there for a Sunday wal...