Recently, one of my Creative Writing students at Lord Botetourt High School asked me what my favorite season is. When I was younger ( I am 62) or even just a decade ago, I would have answered the summer.
But now, I no longer have a favorite season, enjoying them all equally. Fall has officially arrived, and I enjoy that pleasant "nip" in the air some mornings. I am preoccupied with deer hunting and West Virginia's and Virginia's fall turkey season both start soon, and I will be afield on opening day in both states. This month Elaine and I have gathered summer grapes for jelly and walnuts for cookies. In another month or so, it will be time to pick persimmons.
Winter, too, has its charms. There is no joy like waking up in the morning and finding six inches of snow on the ground. Elaine and I will stay home and play scrabble, and she will bake a blackberry pie for lunch. Later in the late afternoon, we will take a walk on the seeded logging road that encircles our property and observe what creatures have left their prints in the snow.
Spring means spring gobbler season, trout and river smallmouth fishing, and the woods bursting forth in every shade of green imaginable. Any morning I hear a gobbler sounding off - well nothing can be finer.
And then summer. The unhurried rhythm of a summer day: writing in the morning, walking three miles, lunch with Elaine, and an afternoon nap, then more writing and then stopping work for the day at dinner. Then that long summer twilight of birds singing and the stars coming out.
I like all the seasons.
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