Seasons of Mist

When I think of the eastern part of the United States, and this statement applies to before I moved over here and now, one image comes to my mind.

The lake is an essential part of the image.

And that image was one of the reasons I wanted to move over here. Granted, Syracuse is not the idyllic image that I had in mind when thinking about the east but the colors still change.

It's the novelty of it all. Being from California, the land where there are only two seasons: sunny and not sunny (which takes up a very small part of the year), the thought of leaves changing and falling has always been a faraway, fairy-tale concept. In elementary school, I remember having to draw the four seasons with spring being flowers; summer being sun sun sun; autumn being filled with red, orange and yellow; and winter being white with snow.

Considering this was California, what was present was not the same as in the picture books (except for summer). And I was always confused as to why the seasons in California were never the same as the picture books. I would collect the colorful leaves from my neighbor's yard because the three they had in their backyard changed colors. And that was strange and new to me.

So naturally, when I saw that the leaves were changing, I just stared, entranced and there came that familiar need to collect leaves and twirl them around in my hands. I refrained. But there is something oddly strange about a tree that is red on top and green at the bottom, kind of like someone took a red brush and ran it on top of the trees and forgot to finish the bottom.

And it feels exactly like California in the winter (to which my friend Samantha incredulously asked, "Why did you move?"), sunny and crisply cold. Except it's more colorful. So far I'm enjoying my first real autumn.