It’s been apparent these past few weeks that Fall is coming, despite the recent heat wave, and it breaks my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I love Fall! The colors, the smell, the crispness in the air, apple picking, doughnuts, cider, bonfires. And then there are those beautiful Fall mornings when the light is dappled and has a rich, almost wise, quality to it that it lacks the rest of the year. Fall is pretty amazing. But after Fall comes Winter and I die a little inside. I suppose I could think of some noble reason for this, but really I am just cold and I miss the sun.

I believe that love of the Summer heat is rooted in my Italian heritage; Roman women start wearing their furs in late September when it is still sweltering out. Why? My theory is that September is before October, which is before November, which is before December and it’s cold in Rome in December. They are just preparing for the wet, bone-chilling cold that will come then.

Now as I think about Fall and coming winter, I remember the most contrary thing of all: I love snow. I am going to stop now, I am starting to confuse myself.