I think I can honestly say I like all seasons, but there are reasons why some are less endearing than others. When the first chill of autumn hits, I have this regular epiphany: I don't like being cold. Perhaps that is why I have such a high regard and affection for quilts, fireplaces, and snuggling with another warm body.
Often the first cold days are worse than the deep-freezer frigidity of mid-winter. For one thing you aren't prepared. It is easy to get caught without enough cover, when you haven't had to cover at all for months. Most of us also have a cycle in our weight, and just like bears and chipmunks, it drops in summer and goes up as the temperature goes down. A little extra body fat is not always a bad thing.
Finally the effect of a blast of cold is much different than a blast of heat. Cold makes you want to ball up, to shrivel, to defend yourself. Heat makes you wilt, flail, and lie prone to whatever may hap to come along--hopefully an iced drink with a straw and a fruit garnish. With cold, you feel assailed, so you hunch over for the attack. With heat you feel deserted. All has left you: energy, will, and appetite. With cold you retreat to your den. With heat you escape to the beach and open, airy spaces.
So now the cold is upon us. My fingers are stiff as I type, and goosebumps prickle the skin on my legs. My toes feel frosty and the draft up my back tells me I have to tuck in again. The kettle should be whistling (if I could hear it), and hot drinks have become a bi-hourly respite.
And yet, the sun is shining on golden foliage and the clear brightness of autumn invigorates. A gusty breeze wafts a dazzling shower of leaves in the air, to swirl and twirl and litter the ground with a tawny carpet. Autumn has its joys and beauties. I love thee, autumn, but spring ranks foremost in my heart.