Fall never came last year – or at least I never noticed it. It felt to me as though summer slowly faded, and just as it was ending, a new summer began.

The seasons here have their own rhythm, a very different one than the north. Recently one day after school, I wandered down to the beach near my house. The beach was empty. There were no umbrellas, no towels, no wild-eyed children splashing in the surf or leathery old woman absorbing the sun. Instead there were birds – plovers and sandpipers dashing towards the sea as the waves recede, then rushing back to safety as they returned. There were gulls, not screaming and scheming, but sitting quietly. I went into the water, which is much warmer than you imagine for October, and found that there were thousands of tiny fish, all swimmingly rapidly in an endless ribbon to the south. I saw dolphins hunting them just beyond the surf. The only sounds were the waves and the wind.

Summer doesn’t end dramatically here. It deflates, slowly, like a bicycle tire with a leaky valve. You don’t notice the change on any given day, but let a week or two go by, and you’ll feel it. There’s no crispness, no frost, and hardly any colorful leaves. Fall here feels like a chilly day in July in Maine. So does winter, actually.

Perhaps my circadian rhythm doesn’t recognize the subtleties of Virginia Beach’s seasons. Enough time spent in Michigan and New Hampshire taught me to expect a sharp and short fall, a dramatic prelude to a brutal winter – and now that I leave here, it feels like watching the Wizard of Oz on a black and white TV. (My mother had that experience as a child – she had no idea that Oz was supposed to be in color).

On the other hand, I don’t remember having this feeling in North Carolina. Sure the winters were mild, but fall still felt like fall, just as winter still felt like winter. There are sharper swings of season in Chapel Hill than living within half a mile of the ocean, certainly, but there was still no frost or snow.

Nor does the answer lie in the rhythm of the school year. Unlike almost everyone else, my life still revolves around a school. I still have winter break. I still get off for summer vacation. I still go home for Christmas, just as I have since I was 14.

I think there’s something about this stage in my life that feels like summer. I feel free. The requirements of my employer and social circle seem small compared to the many ways I can spend my time. I can read, or go to the beach, or go to New York this weekend, or go hiking, or cook something, or put my kayak in the water, or watch Netflix or vacuum the rugs. I can go to Costa Rica for Thanksgiving, give my classes a study hall, or go get a haircut. It feels like summers in Maine – I can go sailing, or I can read a book, or I can wander around in the bog, go swimming, or put on a horror movie in the barn.

I wouldn’t extend the metaphor very far. My school career didn’t really remind me much of spring, and I will probably go back to school at some point anyway. Perhaps something will suddenly make my life stressful, or at least curtail the sense of freedom and choice I have now. Also, I liked fall. It felt serious and meaningful. I felt like I was getting down to work. I felt like I was accomplishing things. I’m not sure if I’m doing that now.

In a couple weeks, I’m going to lead some kids on a backpacking trip in the mountains of Virginia. It will be fully fall up there – I’m expecting frost, bright leaves, and chilly crisp days. Maybe I can capture some of that fall and bring it back to Virginia Beach.