W.E. Krill, Jr. M.S.P.C.

It’s interesting how a person’s emotion and perspective changes through the years regarding seasons. As child, if were to rate the seasons, hands down it would be summer that was my favorite. My family tells me that I would very nearly have to be dragged into the house for meals or when dusk arrived. I also was in love with winter; yes, Erie winters! Sledding, snow forts and thirty below wind chills, until fingers were red and stinging in frozen mittens, and toes were numb even with three pairs of socks on.

Now these two seasons are numbers three and four on my list, but summer still beats winter. And I don’t even live in Erie any longer, but further south, in a more winter moderate climate. Summer now means heat and humidity and air conditioners and electric bills. I went to an outdoor wedding this summer, and within a short period of time, it looked as if someone had turned a fire hose on me. Being sweaty looks much better on kids than fifty something adults at a wedding.

The dread of winter has become greater each year, not just the cold, (more electric bills) and shoveling out a long driveway, but the long, gray days that so press my depression.

I do have happy memories of spring and fall as a child; smelling the earth in my mother’s flower garden after a rain; those family forays to this amazing mum farm that had what seemed to be hundreds of acres of bright flowers and ripe pumpkins. But now in my life, spring and fall are now one and two on the list. Spring for the end of the dreaded winter, and an increasing fascination for the reawakening and renewal of it all. Easter plays no small part of this. And fall has increasingly been a time of intense memory recollection. It was fall when I first fell in love, first discovered the music of Simon and Garfunkle (I still only listen to them during fall), and the time of the year of my mother's birthday; it reminds me that she has gone back home.

I guess now that I have written these thoughts out, it is not really surprising that my season sensibilities have changed; I have changed by age and experience. I wonder what season I will be called back home in. I hope it is either the spring or the fall.