I wouldn't trade Virginia for the world. A place that's so true to season will never promote a desire to reside any other place.
Breeze hitting the tall grass at just the perfect depth, little waves in the fields like the tide moving in. Or puddles parting the open highway as cars roll through. Like it's pulling strands of water with it. Noticing the change in air temperature, as if the heat was replaced by a crisper chill in late September. A ride down a back road yields colors of every hue as fall approaches.
Hand warmers stuffed in shoes, buttoned up Carhartts and flannel, mixed with the body heat of a packed stadium every Friday night. Or snuggling under all the covers on a cold night, to wake up and find a foot of snow on the ground. Giggling all the way down the hill on a pizza pan, to slide off when it hits the bottom.
Reading with sunshine on your back, entrancing in a relaxed state that's indescribable in words.
The ability to drive through a rain storm, to see the sunshine again, or to smell it approaching before the sight of the first puddle. Spending 15 minutes on the porch, as the earth shakes, bolts rip through the sky, and a downpour so fierce it feels like pin needles to the skin if captured in it. The mind is at ease, the scenery envelopes all focus. Soft grass, and squishy mud in between each toe, doing cartwheels in a drizzle, and wishing for a sweet kiss.
Or sitting out for hours on a humid night, fiddling with a Citronella candle that doesn't really work, just to reminisce about times gone by.
God's beauty in all things.
