Here's something my fair city does right: October days.
There's nothing like October in Seattle. Oct. 1 dawns with a glory of riotous color in the leaves of trees, and the month walks out on the 31st naked-branched and content, certain of its accomplishment in chaperoning summer into winter.
The days in between are breathtakingly frigid, a shock to the system after an especially overly hot summer this year. Walking outside, your face trails puffs of your breath whose warmth is stolen quickly away.
And the sky! Oh, the sky! Such a startlingly pure blue it hurts the eyes to look at it. The clarity of color, absolute in its perfection. An exquisite backdrop for the indescribable joy of the leaves.
The flannel sheets are located, buried deep in the linen closet, accompanied by the flutter of a distant memory of disbelief they'd ever be of use again. The extra quilt looms large and fluffy on the bed, sheer joy to slide under on nights that herald the return of cold floors.
I love these days.