I love the turning of the seasons, that moment when you see the first flush of autumn color, or the first white frost that blankets the ground and etches the world in shades of grey, the first precious buds of blossom or new leaves spouting from bare limbs, or the appearance of little green fruits that tell you summer is almost here. We each have different markers of the season, depending on where we live, and even though for so many of us who live in cities and maybe have no garden, still we mark the seasons.
My home town (Melbourne, in the south-eastern corner of Australia) is famous—infamous?— for having four seasons in one day, and I have to say, it's pretty true. Our weather is very changeable.
But in any case, I constantly juggle seasons — in my imagination it's one season (whenever the story I'm working on is set) while outside it's usually a completely different season — and then on social media, friends in different parts of the world are in a different season again. I must admit I sometimes have to check which season I'm actually in.