No, not my nineteenth nervous breakdown. Honestly, I bet I've had enough psychological events to count for at least treble that number!
No, I mean Autumn, Fall, the transition between HolyHellIt'sHot! to OhmuhgoodnessWillItEverBeWarmandDryAgain? that never lasts quite as long as I'd like or grew up with in more northern climes.
Yes, the days are still rising into the mid-to-upper nineties. Yes, it's still warm and humid at night, humid enough to feel like one is breathing through a wet sponge. Yes, the AC is still laboring to keep it even a degree or two cooler than outside.
But...there's the light.
It changes. Stealthily, the shadows alter their creeping courses across the floor, the walls, the yard. The moon comes around by a different path, and the sun is zealous for shorter hours. It all slowly adds up, and there's a part of my brain that is aware and anticipating the coming coolth. That part of me is thinking about roasts and soups and making sure the blankets are washed and ready. It'll be months before we need blankets, but my brain doesn't care - it want's them washed now.
More than any other season, I am aware of Autumn. It is my favourite time of year. Too bad it never lasts very long around here - I'd happily shave some weeks off of the Summer and append them to cooler months of vivid colors, leaf piles, harvest, and the inevitable turning of the year.