Living in a place where winter season dominates and spring and autumn together account for less than 1/6 of the calendar year, one would natually complain about the weather. But sometimes, especially when I am driving among the wavy blooming hills in spring or acroos endless woods dyed with of colorful shades in autumn, I realize in amazement how effortlessly these scenes are imprinted on my memory. If only I could indudge myself by doing a road trip once in a while, even as little time as the transitional seasons in Ithaca allow me, I could replay them over and over again throughout the long, shadowy winter months, comforted and longing for their return.
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