Is It Fall Yet?

NASA image

It seems to me that literature always waxes effusive about summer. Everyone is supposed to love summer. Picnics, barbeques, days at the beach. It sounds idyllic.

Me, I hate summer. Give me fall any day: a nip in the air, the trees turning orange and yellow.

Or spring, with brand new green leaves and flowers starting to bring color back into the landscape.

Summer is too damn hot.

OK, so it probably wasn’t all that hot in the places where people originally wrote paeans to summer. It’s ra...