Every year, from May through August, I say, with conviction, that I am a “summer girl” who thrives on sunshine and never wants to give up afternoons spent lying barefoot in the grass, sipping on ice cold cider in a summer dress.
Then, fall comes, and I excitedly swap out my sandals for riding boots, become BFFs with my slow cooker once more, and find nothing more enjoyable than curling up with my cat on the sofa while the pitter patter of rain makes music with apartment’s window sills. Like that, I realize how much I love navy blue sweaters and infinity scarves, and how amazing it feels to come home and crawl into sweat pants. I drop my love of summer like a graduating high school senior leaving his junior girlfriend at home and quickly embracing Thursday night fraternity parties and co-ed dorms.
It really is beautiful though.