The Lamentable Reality of Fall in Orlando

Autumn captivates me. I love the leaves, how they turn from green to red and orange and yellow. I love the crisp air, and the first time it's cold enough to see your breath. I love scarves, and long sleeved T-shirts (I want to wear my Virginia Tech shirt without sweating!), and jeans. I love apples and all of the dishes that are made from them, apple pie, apple sauce, apple butter. I love football games with fans bundled up in sweatshirts, hats and scarves of matching colors (especially when those colors are garnet and gold and they're doing the tomahawk chop).

But I live in Orlando, in the state where old people go to escape the cold. I live where the leaves stay green through November, and the apples are trucked in from other states, and scarves are a fashion accessory and nothing more, and the wrong football team wins the games. I live where you can go swimming on Christmas if you really wanted to.

It hit 90 degrees on the Fall Equinox, and I was filled with jealousy because somewhere the leaves are falling. Just not here.