Now is the time in skiing when we dance...

It's that time of year again...

Every year, toward the end of summer, it hits. A feeling of lethargy, ennui, and wistfulness. I feel altogether tired of the relentless, oppressive heat and humidity of summer. Vacations are over, the pool is closed, so what's the point of this sticky, nasty weather hanging on? I'm eager for the cool crispness of fall, for evenings when you can see your breath while you look at the stars, and for the enchantment that comes from lighting a fire outside on the deck, and staring into the flames while spending time with good friends.

But above all, I'm anxious for winter. I'm not alone in this. I guarantee that if you ask any die-hard skiier, they'll tell you the same thing. We all suffer from feelings of unrest and yearning at this time of year, and there's a ritual that we perform in honor of the change of seasons. Every year, in this time period between the end of August and the beginning of October, I find myself drawn to my ski gear, down in the basement. I drag out my boot bag, and pull everything out of it. I fondly try on my gloves, which conform softly to my hands after years of use. I pet my warm fuzzy neck gaiter, and try on my favorite ski socks. And then I put on my boots, and buckle them up, and tromp around the house for a little while, just wishing, wishing, wishing that ski season wasn't still 3 months away.

I know I'm not alone in this.