I spend my summers basking in the sun, like every moment dwelling inside is a sin. When I have to drive, the windows are rolled down. I much prefer to bike or to walk. On the longest days, I journal at 5:00AM on my front porch. The sun’s extended tenancy allows it. I do not know if you fully understand how much I prefer to be outside. I look at my yard, scheming ways to create an outdoor kitchen. We have so many hammocks. I would not want a house that failed its primary mission – keeping the outside outdoors – but I do relish the moments I spend on the other side of its walls.

The sun starts to make its daytime stays briefer, and I dread it. Like the darkness is a too-heavy coat, worn out of necessity but constricting my movement. I continue to be outside as often as I can be. Biking in the cold is brutal on my skin but lovely for my spirit. How long will swiss chard grow in the garden? Argula? I have to kill some of my plants but not all of them. The deciduous nature of basil and lovage undoes my efforts to convince them to linger. We take down the tree swing. The yard feels more open with the naked trees and less-obstructed sky. The walks through the neighborhood and to my friends’ homes still feel lovely, if I am more hidden. Nighttime feels more private.

With the exception of three years in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve spent all of my winters near the Great Lakes. They share their water with us in the form of cloud cover, snow storms, and rain. The appearance of a sapphire sky is something precious. I live in lower latitudes than I did in Seattle, so the dark days are not as extreme as I experienced there. Still. The city illuminates itself more frequently with artificial light. We manufacture shadows around here. The nights stretch on. We still enjoy life regardless.

I spend my summers dreading the arrival of autumn, and even more so winter. Then it arrives, and I am outside, with my skin covered and boots on. The trees are pretty in different ways. The rivers still flow. Incredible sunrises keep me company on some of my rides to work. And it doesn’t feel so bad after all. Like the dread was worse than the event, like I forgot that I have nearly forty years of making this home too.