Change Of Season Dates [updated] Guide

She closed the notebook and put it back on the shelf, but this time she turned the spine outward. The calendar with the black X’s came down. She folded it once, twice, and dropped it into the recycling.

She poured the tea and sat by the frosted glass. A text from her sister: You okay? First snow. Feels early this year. Marta typed back: Seasons change on their own schedule. Sent it. Then added: I’m okay. The second part felt less true. change of season dates

The calendar on Marta’s wall had three black X’s through October 14th. That was the day Sam left. She hadn’t moved the marker since. She closed the notebook and put it back

Now, three weeks later, she stood in the kitchen making tea, watching the first real snow of autumn paste itself against the window. The weather app on her phone pinged: First frost advisory. Change of season: fall to winter. Official date: November 7. She almost laughed. As if the seasons needed an official date. As if November 7th meant anything to the maple outside that had been dropping red leaves since late September. She poured the tea and sat by the frosted glass

What I hope will grow: the courage to stop looking for the day it ended, and start looking for the day I begin again.

She turned to a fresh page. At the top, she wrote: November 7th. First snow. Unofficial change of season.

Outside, the world had turned white. Not a line drawn between fall and winter—just snow on red leaves, one season still bleeding into the next, refusing to choose a date. And Marta, for the first time in weeks, poured herself another cup of tea and watched it happen without checking her phone for an official announcement.