Seasons

Leaves are already spilling from the trees! Scarlett, bronze, sunset blushed, drenched in rainwater they stick like paper mache to the pavement. I resent London for stealing my summer. We had one week of warm sunshine in May, one in June, and a couple of days in July when my parents were here (they brought the Denver sun with them). But who am I to complain about clouds? I, who spent my youth ardently protesting sunny 70 degree weather Thanksgivings, who prayed for afternoon thunderstorms so I could cozy under a blanket and read, who wanted to move to Seattle (or London...), who in a month and a half will be living in northern California with sunshine shooting out of my ears? I just want the season to fit the season, that's all. Warm summers, brisk autumns, cold winters and mild springs. (And I'm looking forward to having a car again, so I don't have to push through blustery rain carrying thirty pounds of groceries and dodging stray pedestrians to bring home soggy boxes of Cheerios).

At least I was rewarded for my pain with an interesting find. Today I braved the rain and went to the library to pick up some travel books. On a whim, I decided to seek out C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters. Luckily they had it, but the library lady had to descend deep into the bowels of the Putney Library basement to find this one, and I can see why. The cover itself is enough to scare anyone away from Lewis, and there are even illustrations inside. This is one book I probably won't be reading on the tube.