Three years in California: I’m

Three years in California: I'm beginning to miss the seasons. Lately I've been craving hot. I've been craving days when it's so hot your shirt sticks to your back. When it's so hot that you wear t-shirts and shorts for days on end, when all you want to do is sit in the shade and sip something cool. When it's so hot, you just wait for the ice cream truck to come by so you can get an italian ice and race to finish it before it's consumed by the heat. When it's so hot that you don't ever worry about whether it will get chilly once the sun goes down.

I updated my about page tonight. It's not complete, just different. Writing it made me realize how entwined the seasons are with my memories and my senses. And I realized that I'm beginning to miss the extremes of New England: the so-hot-you-can't-breathe summer, the so-cold-I'm-not-going-outside-again winter, the perfect cloudless autumn days when you realize there are more shades of orange in one tree than you ever thought possible. California is spectacular, and when I stand on the beach and look up the coast at the jagged cliffs and the frothy surf, I think there's no where I'd rather live. But some nights, I'd like to have my window open with a thick dewy breeze blowing across my face. I'd like to look out and see fireflies circling, I'd like to strain my ear for the sounds of a summer thunderstorm, instead of sitting at my desk in June with the windows closed, in a wool sweater, with the heater blowing.