Today I was driving through downtown, windows down and country music blasting. I was feeling warm in my sundress with the sun beating on my burned-now-bronzed skin. (Too many years of living in Long Cold Winter Places has made me hate A/C).
Then, something crazy happened. The radio announcer wished us a Happy End Of Summer.
My brain went into panic mode. Could it be? The end of summer? Are we moving into flannel/apple pie/brisk winds/early evenings/6 months of dark?
And then I drove by a spot I remember standing this winter, waiting for a bus. FREEZING.
Could it be? Does it really get cold enough here for Uggs and mittens? Do I actually need two layers of pants or am I a pansy?
This is why we haven’t moved to a warmer climate.
And this is how seasons work. They’re just long enough for you to forget the realities of sweltering heat or bone-numbing cold, and just short enough for you to embrace their fleeting nature and unique joys.
On that note, there is a bowl of raspberries and a pool of sunshine calling my name.