They, the staunch supporters of those warm middle months, denounce it as the interloper that browns their sunny pastures. But fall, with its cascading leaves and its inexorable march toward January bleakness, exists to tell us something. As orange burnout ebbs into maroon fadeaway, as darkness devours abbreviated day, fall reminds us that we are still alive. At the bottom of a rain-lashed pier, face drenched by salty spray, winter is at its most personal. Wrapped in the embrace of a gray-green Irish mist, there's never any doubt.
Winter is the warmest of seasons.
A time for homecomings and hugs and hot cups of tea. A time to gaze at the waves and reflect on the year and wonder what the new one will bring. A time to put all those other lives on hold just long enough to listen to the whistle of the wind. A time for resolutions, and rainbows. Across the water, there are holidays and homecomings and resolutions, too.