Twice in the last few days I’ve dashed out for a stroll wearing one layer less than I should. I forget that it’s not summer anymore. The wind whistles up my sleeves, makes my teeth chatter.

As the weather grows colder, my walks get faster. In fact, they turn into jogs. I run to warm up and  slow to a walk only when I stop shivering.

 I’ve never been much of a cold-weather person, will never be one.

But every fall I remember this: A bitter, blustery day is less formidable once it’s been endured. Going out in all seasons is good for the soul.