Good Riddance to Summer

Pretty much every year of my life--maybe every year--there has come a day in, oh, September or October when I've woken to the palpable fact of there being a new feel to the air that morning. Something that I can not quite describe, even to myself, would be different. When I was a child this was usually accompanied by the sound of someone cutting firewood with a chainsaw in the distance, and when I would swing my feet to the floor there would be a faint coolness there. And I would know that it was Fall.

Gentle Reader, that day was today. Well, yesterday, technically, as I'm up after midnight, but oh goodness, it isn't half lovely. For you see, it means I have survived summer. Hideous, hideous summer. Summer, with its blazing sun and its humidity and its sweatiness and its "not even mad dogs and Englishmen" feel. Fall has always been my favorite season, because in addition to its own charms, it means summer is over and not to be thought of for months. Oh, I know, Mississippi weather is apt to zap us with some more unpleasantly hot days after I wake up to the first fall day, but it can't take away the wondrousness of that first day of fall feeling or the knowledge that all is working to the good weatherwise now--the hot days won't be as hot and there will be fewer of them. (Of course it's still hurricane season, but let's not quibble; hurricanes hitting are rare and sweatiness is daily.)

I got to enjoy delicious fall air all day. The temp only got up to around 84 degrees F; it was cool enough in the morning to actually need a top sheet. This year I even got the chainsaw sound. Admittedly a chainsaw that seems to be operating no more than a hundred yards away from one's bed loses something that the chainsaw so far in the distance you couldn't even guess what neighbor might be using it has, especially when that nearby chainsaw is soon joined by a neighbor cutting grass, but nothing can take away the wondrousness of the first fall day. Even an idle thought of, "Whatever happened to that old Bible Belt 'don't do yard work on Sunday' thing?" floats away like gossamer, leaving only good will and continued luxuriating in the air.


Take note, folks, this is about as good-tempered as I get all year.