As I walked outside, I wore pants and a long-sleeved shirt, plus a knit hat. I haven’t worn a knit hat since Acadia in June or LA in March. Months of heat and bright sunlight bearing down on us – at first, a wonderful taste of summer, and then, a tough reality – we live in the tropics to the west of the desert. We’re only here because of the water supply.
I write about this often, but the season change (or lack thereof) from summer to fall, for me, is one of the hardest parts of living here. It just does not line up with the rhythms of my upbringing or my body. I ache for autumn the way that Alaskans dream of the sun.
Give me all the pumpkin, cinnamon, red-leafed, orange-colored everything.
So it’s just this week, I feel like I made it. Summer is over. The time change plunges us into darkness at 5pm and I revel in it. The wind picks up, shaking the palms, and there was even a drizzle of rain the other night. We can sleep with the windows open, but the fan off. We can sleep under covers and rest in the way only crisp air allows. We can eat soup for dinner and devour plums at breakfast. We can sip chai and hot coffee. We can turn the heat on in the car and pull a blanket over our laps while we watch TV.
These little snippets of orange from my walk are a love letter to November, to the season change, to the feel of the environment finally aligning with my body. Yes, it’s the month of gratitude, and I couldn’t be more grateful for this transition.