We are so close to being out of the long horror that is Summer. I’m ready for a change. I can almost taste it. The temperature hasn’t really dropped yet but the shortening of the days feels like a balm to my nervous system.
Yet oddly it wasn’t nature that cued me in. I saw a tweet from a New Yorker complaining about the 7 train not running on the first weekend of the U.S Open.
With unpredictable and uncanny seasons off from the baseline of my childhood, it can feel like I rely on cultural markers for seasonal shifts more than temperature changes.
I grant a chill in the air may come at random when you live in the high variance mountain West so maybe it fits that a complaint from a city is a better marker as to last call of summer. They like in concrete and need the reminders. Tennis in New York means fashion week is just around the corner.
I’m ready for the season to open. I look forward to pilgrimages to the cities to keep business turning. But I’m going to enjoy one the last weekends before we are all called back to the churn of industry. For those lucky few who harvest I pray for bounty.