There’s a euphoric feeling in the air on the crisp, cool mornings that follow a night of rain. The air smells clean and everything glistens. Birds bathe in the shallow puddles that formed in the hollows overnight, twittering more cheerfully than they did yesterday.
Last night was the first real rain of the season, and now it truly feels like summer is over. From the kitchen window we see an ever-changing tableau of our microclimate, and I can tell it’s going to be a “cardigan day”. For me, the weather is perfect when it’s cool without being too chilly.
Jack sleeps on the couch; he’s had a rough night of urping from the flu he seems to have caught just as I’m finally getting over it. Socrates isn’t feeling well, either. I know that’s the flipside of the seasons changing, but fall is still my favorite. I miss the intensity of the changing colors of autumn that I grew up with, and hope when the kids are older we can get back east one year for “the show”.
I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, though; I love being able to depend on rain that doesn’t start until October and can usually be counted on to end in April. Cuddling up as it pours down is a treasured pastime in this household, and the whole world seems brighter when the sun peeks through again. Even the hummingbirds act as if the salvia’s nectar has been sweetened by the downpour. Everything’s better after the rain.
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