I realize that hurricanes are devastating acts of Mother Nature, but I must admit that I've enjoyed the taste of autumn weather that Tropical Storm Ernesto carried with him through the Triangle area. This summer hasn't been particularly brutal in terms of long term heatwaves, but it's been consistently warm enough for me to notice a milestone for the gradual shift in my seasonal preferences. Growing up, like many other school-weary adolescents, I looked forward not only to the school-less summers, but also the sun and shine of a pool or ocean drenched afternoon. I lived for the blur of the beginningless mornings and never-ending nights. Summertime was my local paradise.

But these days, I long for something different. I long for the passage of summer to autumn, and the rise from winter to spring. I love the first step outside, awakened by the scent of a brisk autumn or spring morning. I like the fresh, cool air flowing through the windows of my black Mirage rather than the compressed, manufactured air forced through the vents. I love the rainbow of colors appearing on the leaves, and the return of color upon the arrival of spring. I love the mystery of creeping nights and the hope of lingering days.

There was once a promise of summer that now is empty. Summertime is such a great part of our youth because it's so simple, as are we at that age. And as we grow up, we learn to appreciate the world around us; new experiences fascinate us. In our fairy tale lives, summertime is our once upon a time that leads us perfectly to our happily ever after.