This time last week, a “cold” front
forced me to rummage through the old oak toy box that sits at the foot of our
bed, trying to locate a pair of sweatpants. I relished the idea of swapping out
my fall and winter clothes, folded neatly in the chest, with my spring and
summer clothing hanging in my closet.
Usually, this annual exchange
signals my belief in the arrival of fall to central Texas. Anyone familiar with
the weather in our area knows that summer starts in April and lingers through
October. We have two “springs”—the one that thaws everything in February and
teases our flowers to bloom in March, and the one that comes right before autumn’s
birth. The second spring rejuvenates our yards and gardens with another round
of blossoms triggered by the return of rain into the area once the hundred
degree temperatures creep back to the lower 90s.
After that round of rain and bloom,
a front ushers in fall with a blast from the north that lowers temperatures at
night into the 40s, or maybe even dipping into the first frost of the season. I
celebrate this shift in weather by throwing open all of the windows. Our twenty-year-old
air conditioner sighs in relief!
I take my morning juice or cup of
tea outside and sit at the bistro table. Overhead, the sky aches in pure blue.
The breeze, slight and cool, carries children’s laughter. To honor the shift in
weather, I’ve donned a soft robe and slippers for my feet. Up north, weather
changes dramatically. I remember definite demarcations signaling each new
season. In central Texas, our endlessly long summers invade into the other
seasons, whittling them down to only a few precious weeks. And so I like to
savor the cooler days and nights, pay tribute to them with my ceremonial
clothing switch-out and log fires in the backyard pit.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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