So my birthday always means, to me, the beginning of autumn. Fall used to mean an ominous threat of shorter days and their concomitant long nights of moody funk. And not the good kind of funk. But now that I've been freed of so much of the threat and burden of chronic depression for a few years, i can just revel in the more subtle, beautiful pleasures of the season.
The lower angle of the sun in the sky makes the evening feel like it ought to, portending of nighttime and wishing I had brought a coat and, maybe, romance. All of this promise, but with no display so garish and obvious as springtime. Fall has an elegance and an understatement that I aspire to, being as clumsy and indelicate and blatant as I am.
So, yeah, I'm starting to like my birthday again, for the first time since my youth. Thanks so much to all of you who sent such kind words, thoughts, and gifts.
Monoculture Is Bad For Business