Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Change
It is fall now. The trappings of summer remain; the girls still lie tanning on the piers along the lake, the tomatoes still ripen in the garden, the apples catch the rays peaking through heavy, heaving boughs; all blushing in the sun. It is no colder than it was a month ago. We had a summer flecked with chill rain and drizzle, but on a morning two weeks ago, there was a crispness to the air that was not there before and summer was gone. The next day was hot and humid, the same choking thickness that we cursed a few days before, but we soaked it up, reveled in it, knowing now how soon it'd pass.
There is a day like this in the winter, when a warm wind blows and we shake our heads and wonder if we'd actually put the garden to bed properly last fall (a lifetime ago, it seems) and maybe it'd be worth the drive to go North for a last ski trip, but mostly we just feel the air blow mild against our faces and enjoy. We bastardize the word chinook once again and give it to the warm wind on that first spring day.
And so, if we do such things on the first day of spring, we must do them in reverse now. We call the cool air that broke the heat the williwaw and make vague plans to tear down bean poles, uproot peppers and turn over weed choked beds. There is time, maybe, for a last camping trip before the leaves turn to fire and then drop, revealing a sadly diminished sun. Mostly we just walk through the cool dusk, feel the warmth of our hands clasped together and enjoy.
