A recent snowfall got me thinking.

Many people love summer. And why not? The weather is (allegedly) beautiful, the kids are off school, and cookouts are aplenty.

Summer is not my favorite time of year, however. While I enjoy the sun, and I love to watch a storm roll in, summer also seems to bring out some of the worst behaviors: people leave their dogs outside to bark for hours, motorcycles roar through the city streets, bass booms along behind the motorcycles, etc. And though I say this, I know that I spend countless hours outdoors during the summer, enjoying all that the season has to offer.

I am one of those people who loves winter. Winter is quieter. When it snows, the downy white brightens captures the gleam of the sun and the cold glow of the moon. Snow gathers like leaves and blossoms on the trees and flower stalks. Everything about winter seems to suggest that it’s okay to relax and slow down.

Spring is my least favorite season. I know that many people love spring, associating it with rebirth. I find spring mercurial and soggy. Sure, the last few weeks of spring are beautiful, but early spring is that transition when nothing is quite blossomed but the fresh has fallen off winter and everything looks tattered. Yet who cannot feel a vigor when the first few buds come on the trees, so minute to look like a spring green mist?

Conversely, I adore fall. It’s the last blush of life before the quiet of winter comes. The trees are painted with the vigor of a bouquet. The fields are ripe and burgeoning, pumpkins dot the landscape and glisten with a bright sheen of morning frost.

Such likes and dislikes, observances of small things that add to joy or despair, help to form the whole of who we are. It says something about us, whether we are a winter person, a summer person, a spring person, or a fall person. And for those who find the beauty in all four seasons — what new pleasures each change must bring to you.