By Bryce Yoder, Student Writer in Residence

There’s a part of me that finds nice weather in late November…
a touch unsettling.
Don’t get me wrong,
I’m a sucker for 55 with a light breeze,
sun maybe partially obscured behind some wispy cotton balls
but like
it feels wrong.
Doesn’t it?
There’s something unnerving about sitting in my science hall,
talking about climate change and a warming globe,
then walking outside
to find it a crisp 65
in the middle of the month that usually ushers in the snow.
I don’t know if maybe that’s my anxiety not letting me enjoy a nice thing,
or maybe it’s my fear of spring showing
because I prefer when things die
rather than when they bloom.
This weather gives me a nice afternoon,
but when it’s dark at 4:30
what use have I for day straight outta’ late September?

I don’t remember why I thought to write this.
Truth is,
I love a good cool autumn day.
And it is,
still autumn.
But I guess that’s how the wind blows through my semester-emptied skull –
looking to the dystopian future
instead of enjoying what will be the idealists’ past