It happens every year whether you’re conscious of it or not. It usually happens sometime in late August or early September, right around those weeks where the summer heat’s starting to get a little old, yet you’re not quite ready to kiss it goodbye yet. It can be triggered by a smell, the sunset that evening, a certain song, or even just a basic thirst for change. And it usually happens in a split second. Like a warm breeze that brushes across your face before disappearing into the longer-than-yesterday’s afternoon shadows.
It’s that first vibration of my favorite and most creative season of the year, Fall, and I’ve noticed that I feel it a few weeks earlier than most people. Colors start reminding me of Halloween. I start paying more attention to which ballclubs are in the hunt for the pennant. I start missing the smell of turkey and stuffing. I can almost hear the faint sounds of silver bells.
It’s a moment that only happens once a year. I just had mine.
Fall 2007. Bring it on.
Amen. You know I’m a Fall Fan as well. And, I had mine already too. A sunset a couple days ago. I swear, the air that filled my lungs that evening was November air. I’m so ready.
Come on, now. You guys live in coastal Southern California. You’re ready for it to drop from 86 to 76? Time to put away the SPF 30–it’s almost SPF 15 season!
I’m really looking forward to the day when we break 68 degrees in L.A. so I can break out my thermal and beanie.
Speaking of all this, my buddy James from NYC was out here recently and commented on the fact that people who are accustomed to the East Coast climate ironically tend to be more sensitive to the dynamic changes in temperature on the West Coast. For instance, take a hot day on the beach followed immediately by the relatively cold evening Pacific air. They, if James is any representation of the average East Coaster, are the wusses looking to borrow the hoody at the 4th of July bonfire while all of us were comfortably wearing tanktops.
Not to mention that Pedro residents, per capita, own more hooded sweatshirts than any other L.A. suburb. There must be a reason.
Totally. Once October hits we all start looking like a bunch of Hobbits running around down here.
Who do you think James’ extra-hoody-in-the-truck-because-you-never-know savior was that night?