It’s been hot and muggy and if I lived some other place, I’d swear we were in for a tornado or something creepy like that.
But I don’t live some other place. I live in L.A. and summer has been holding on for dear life, desperately trying to keep autumn at bay. That hasn’t worked, of course, as today is the first day of autumn, no matter how hot it is.
Part of my soul struggles a bit this time of year. I expect signs of fall. Like crisp days and yellow leaves. I expect to need a sweater now and then. I expect these things and I miss them, as they’re simply not part of my Los Angeles experience. I’ve spoken to folks who grew up here, and they’re mostly fine with what passes for autumn in these parts. Sure – it’s warmer than it used to be, but L.A. natives never knew football weather growing up. For them, all is well.
Mister and I have lived here for decades now, and I suppose I should try to let go of my childhood dependency on season changes. If that’s even possible, I mean. Because maybe I’ll always feel a bit out of place when autumn rolls around. Maybe I’ll always feel out of step with nature.
Maybe I should just learn to love the damned palm trees. I can try, but I’m not making any promises.