The middle south might be the worst place on Earth to live. It’s like living in London without the benefits of the city or a decent pub.
Endless autumn is endlessly difficult to deal with. Up north, things die for the winter but the death is covered with snow often enough to make the world look clean and bright. Down in the deep south, the sun shines and things stay green throughout the year. Here in the middle south it’s cold, rainy, dead and brown for the entire winter. There’s nothing to distract you from the dull, plodding misery all around.
It is, for instance, impossible to muster Christmas spirit in the absence of the traditional trappings of Christmas: snow, fridgidly cold weather, obnoxiously adorned homes. The closest I usually come to Christmas spirit is an uncomfortable sense of stressful anticipation as I realize how much shopping/wrapping/travelling there is left to do and how little time there is to do it. I felt none of that this year. Next year I may try no getting and no giving.
Here it is the 24th of January. It’s blustery but warm enough to wear a light jacket. The leaves are still scattered about, the trees are bare and the sky is the color of chill-blasted blue. You know it’s bad when even bright sunlight and a spotless blue sky looks like an ill omen.