I'm from California. In California, or at least in Sacramento, there are two seasons: hot and cold. I lived in California for 20 years, or two thirds of my entire life. Two seasons was normal for me.

Now I live in Maryland, and there are four seasons. The sun sets earlier, the air gets colder, but it's not winter. Winter is a barren hellscape. No, there are still leaves on the trees, the Earth still warms when the sun shines, and there is no snow.

It is autumn. Frankly, I still don't understand or enjoy this season. There are no months between hot and cold in California. In Maryland, there's autumn. Everything is dying, but nothing is quite dead yet. Everything is in its death throes. And there are still fucking mosquitoes. 

I don't understand why people enjoy this season. Maybe back when most people were farmers, and Autumn was the season of the harvest, it would make sense. A years worth of hard work would come to fruition, and there would be the prospective of not working for the duration of the winter. But I'm not a fucking farmer. I can get McDonald's whenever I want. Or a salad. Whatever.

The point is, autumn is the season of melancholy to me, far more than winter. Winter is hopeful, because the trees are resting. Autumn is sad because the trees are dying.

Isaiah Gooley