Fall is here, and everyone I know is merrily singing its praises. The pumpkin spice lattes, cardigans, apple cider, hot chocolate, and Halloween. I know the pro-autumn arguments well, because I used to be one of these people, too. I was madly in love with the magical days of crisp autumn air where colors fly through the air as the leaves fall from the trees. You will live forever and all your friends will live forever, and everyone will always be happy.
Unfortunately that's all a lie. You can drink hot chocolate all year around. Summer's humidity often stretches into autumn, and you certainly won't live forever.
Fall is the indie hipster season, the one you have a brief fling with in your youth when you think its cool to hang out with someone obsessed with death, decaying trees, and the more morbid works of Emily Dickinson. But then one day you grow up, realize that making out in cemeteries isn't really your thing, and you move on. Fall means shorter days, less sunlight, and no long mornings on my balcony with an obscenely large cup of coffee and the petunias. It means that another year is ending. The birds are flying south, Christmas is coming, and with it comes winter.
People who say they love winter are either lying through their teeth, or grew up in a cold and harsh climate like the north and so now are conditioned to think winter's abusive tendencies are actually love. They are wrong. There is nothing good about winter except for Christmas, and by some cruel trick of fate Christmas is over before the first full week of winter is over. Winter is the bad parent who told you they would take you out for ice cream and then laughed at you instead.
Fall is beautiful. Death is beautiful too, but when it comes right down to it, we all try to put off making its acquaintance as long as we can. Fall is a lie, like people lie about nursing homes being happy places. Everyone dreads ending up in a nursing home, and so I dread fall. The older I get, the more I realize that life is a finite amount of time. You never know when it will end, which is a mercy, but it definitely won't last forever. You will die too, just like the leaves. So now I love summer. I love how the flowers work their hardest to bloom, even though they have only a few months to show off in.