Simply.
Don't tell me your country has four seasons until you've lived four seasons in mine.
From a frigid snowy winter to a hot moldy summer, your country has merely two extremes.
Being back home during autumn, as the last leaves drop, has made my homecoming worth it. I have always loved the fall, the bright colours, the shades of orange, the hoodie and scarf combo, the rosy cheeks when you come back inside, even the silhouette of bare branches and naked trees. But I never did realize just how wondrous Ontario autumns are.
I have been back home for just over a week now. What have I done? Well, I have been lazy and sloppy. I had so many plans and people I wanted to see, but since I got here, all I've felt like doing is reading books on the reclining sofa by the window, feel the mid morning sun on my face (I will always hate nine to five), walk the dog around the neighbourhood when the streets are clear of people at work and in school, and drink all my dad's red wine.
Oh, and play with the dog. Wrestle her to the ground, play tug of war with her leash, strangle her cushioned neck with my bare hands, drag her by the paws around the house, and wrap my arms around her body and try to squeeze the life out of her. Literally.
"What is it? My dear?"
"Ah, how can we bear it?"
"Bear what?"
"This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?"
"We can be quiet together, and pretend--since it is only the beginning--that we have all the time in the world."
"And every day we shall have less. and then none."
"Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?"
"No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run.
But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere."
