I've always thought that fall was our glorious consolation as the pleasures of summer ebb.
Friends in Northern California used to point out how much I liked it there and ask, "So why don't you move here? We never have bad winters like you do in New England."
"But you never have New England autumns, either," I'd reply, and wistfully, they'd admit they had always wanted to experience one.
I love having four seasons, although I confess by February I've had all the winter I care for, thanks very much. But autumn can't last long enough for me. As an October birthday girl, I grew up thinking that fall was my personal season.
Wasn't the world decorated just for the occasion?