By this point in my life, I could live in a place with better (or at least more even) weather.
The reasons I don’t are many and varied – chief among them is that my grown children live nearby and I like seeing them more than a few times a year.
In March, when the weather here at the seaside can be pitiless, I think about my acquaintances who winter in places notable for their gentle climate, where the sun shines almost every day.
But seasonal changes do more than provide varied visuals.
I think that you keep better in cold weather, mentally that is. Having to test yourself against the elements is what weather is for. A diversification of atmosphere prompts an acuteness of spirit.
I think I’m made of sterner stuff than people who live in places where they run an air conditioner nine months of the year. I like the wild and moody weather.
Once, while chatting with an acquaintance about the beauty of the perfect day, sunny with forgiving humidity and a blue jean sky, I was surprised, but gratified, to hear her say, “I love days like these, but I resent them too. It’s as if you feel forced to get up and get out there and stomp around to prove that you appreciate it.”