Could I live in a country where the seasons were so subtle as to be unnoticeable? Where the sun always shone, and the leaves were always green? On a cold day like today, when the wind chill claws at my face, I tell myself that I could forfeit the changing seasons for the promise of an endless summer, warm evenings, and the warmth of the sun on my skin.

But could I really? Could I give up on the golden brown and red shades that color the streets in autumn, or the simple pleasure of kicking up the fallen leaves that cover the pavement on the days when nightfall creeps into the late afternoon? Could I really forfeit the smell of freshly cut grass on a beautiful spring day, or the sounds of birds singing the arrival of another season? No matter how cold it gets, I doubt I could like without seasons.