Wrong Side Of The Paw

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There are many tasks that I find difficult. Braiding my annoyingly curly hair, for starters. Differentiating equations and putting down a good book before one in the morning are also beyond my capabilities. Another thing I’ve found hard in each of my thirty-four years? Choosing a favorite season.

Summer is easy to enjoy with its warm freedoms, but winter offers skiing and ice skating and the sheer beauty of a world transformed by a fleecy blanket of white. And though spring is exciting with its daily growth spurts, right in front of me was a glorious hillside in its early autumn colors of green with sprinklings of red and orange and yellow, a scene so stunningly beautiful it was hard to look away.

“Fall it is,” I murmured to myself.

I was standing at the bookmobile’s back door, which was wide open to let the unseasonably warm air of late September waft around the thousands of books, the hundreds of CDs and DVDs, the jigsaw puzzles, my part-time clerk, myself, and Eddie, the bookmobile cat.

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