Typically I love summer. I love going to the beach and eating at outdoor cafes and wearing little sundresses.
This summer was rough on me, though. It was so stinkin’ hot for so long that I felt like I was melting.

But even if this summer hadn’t served up week after week of sweltering heat, there’s something cozy about fall’s arrival.
This weekend I unpacked my sweaters and wool pants and scarves and such, and put away the shorts, tank tops and sundresses. Being short on space requires this ritual — there’s no room for all four seasons — and that means a big chunk of my wardrobe is always out of sight. That makes it extra fun to rediscover that pair of brown booties I bought last fall, that salmon cowlneck … things I love wearing but haven’t thought about in months.
The air feels crisp and smells like leaves and wood fires.
We’re looking forward to the thrill of the holiday season in New York. The first snow, the festive parties, the decorations and music and excitement.
By about March, I’ve had enough. The cold will be on my last nerve, I’ll be so tired of having to bundle up just to go to the store across the street and of my fingers and toes always being chilly.
Then, not long after, we’ll get those first few warm days and it’ll be time to pull out a pair of capri pants and sandals, and show a little fish belly white skin to the world.
Each season seems so much more exciting because it gives way to the next. It’s finite so you have to enjoy it while you can.