somuchrain

Have you ever noticed how frogs peep in the spring and croak in the fall?

It's almost fully fall here now, in not-quite-central Massachusetts. I'd not ever realized how much Vermont had really changed me in relation to seasons. Of course there are four obvious seasons in Boston and New York (where I've spent most of my time) but in nowhere as clear and present a way as Vermont. Maybe it's less due to the seasons so much as living somewhere truly rural (a population less than 900). The smells always promise seasons before they're really arrived and they're not mingled with car exhaust and rotting trash. Vermont doesn't smell nearly as much of sweat and boredom.

Dating is a survival tactic in Vermont. The summers are blown through with hooking up, with skinny dipping and kissing the beads of sweat on people's lips, but it's always conscious of transit. Nothing that starts in summer is ever expected to last for long and it's always self-consciously romantic. In the fall people try to love, they look for something that will be warm and glowing for months. Vermont winters require company.

Anyway, I'm <i>falling into fall</i> as it were. I want to write something about this ... I'm not sure how ... it feels sort of significant ... the effect of seasons on society. I mean, Christ, if there's a neurosis called "Seasonally Effected Disorder" (cleverly: SAD) then it <i>must</i> mean something. I mean, fuck, if there's a pill available it must exist ...