A soft summer rain today provided us with a respite from the Endless 80s (and 90s) that have baked us since June. It’s the kind of day where the strong scents of dry leaves and dirt, stirred by passing showers, trump all things visual. We can close our eyes and still know what’s going on.
This wet gift doesn’t require an umbrella, however, and barely a hat. We’re only borrowing the edge of a weather system that’s hugging the coastline on its way northward, and tomorrow the valley will slowly heat up again.
But how quickly September has arrived, with October looming in the distance, and already my wife’s received a Christmas catalog in the mail. I’d join the hummingbirds on their flight south if I had a place to stay, but then I remember why I like it here, for the seasons and sights and smells, the variety, and so dutifully sign on for another year. A single hummingbird came by for an after-dinner drink the other night, and it was tempting, but no.
At least, not this time.