is a feeling most Canadians experience, living at a latitude where the faint sun of winter cast a long shadow over the rest of the year. Old joke from growing up in Montreal: “Canada has 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and construction.” Even though summers recently have been shockingly hot and dry, and too frequently dominated by fires with their massive death count of wild creatures and destruction of human habitations, we still have the (perhaps outdated?) conviction that the warmer months pass too quickly.
I wonder how long it will take before that belief diminishes?
Or perhaps it has less to do with the actual duration of each season, and more to do with our lingering nostalgia for the unfettered summers of childhood, when September meant back to school and to a life ordered to fulfill other people’s sense of purpose.