Once, when I was on a plane that was headed to the east coast from the west coast of the USA, a sat beside a man who lived most of the time in San Diego. It was winter, and he was flying out to find some snow and ice because, he said, he was “tired of perpetual spring,” and wanted all the seasons of the year even if he had to fly away to find them. I feel like that. Here is where I’ll write about that.