Soon the cold north winds of winter will turn, and the gentle southern breezes of spring will bring the aromas of blooming buds, and fresh cut grass. Soon we will hear the crack of the bat instead of the bounce of the ball. March madness will long be forgotten, replaced by long lines at the hardware store.
When I was younger I thought autumn was my favorite season. I looked forward every year for the break in the stifling heat to the cool fall air and the hope of a winning football season. The atmosphere of the stadium on a brisk November night always jump started the long holiday seasons.
Now however, I am a little longer in the tooth, I don’t accept the cold as well as I once did and the onset of spring has taken the place of favorite turn of the seasons. Now I look forward to warm nights and warmer days. I can’t wait to get outside and swing something, be it a hoe in the garden or my seven iron on the golf course. I want to bend and twist and walk and move, to have room to do these things without hitting a lamp or scaring the dog.
I have lived long enough to realize the foolishness of preferring one season over another. I realize if you were to pay attention, you would probably find a column resembling this one in the fall saying the opposite thing. When the heat and humidity pushes me back inside from the porch and there is more sweat pouring from me than water from the condenser of the air conditioner, I’ll be cussing the smell of cut grass, and the spent buds will be long on the ground. Then, just as sure as the want ads follow the obituaries, there will be “My Southern Expressions” lamenting the dog days of summer.
I would not change a thing. I’m sure there are places where summer to winter is only noted on the pages of a calendar, where it is mostly cold or mostly warm year in and year out. The residents there could no more understand us than we could ever understand them. There is one thing I know about home. No matter how bad the weather tries to overcome our aspirations of better days, all we have to do is be patient. Just as sure as the day comes when you don’t think you can stand another moment, it’ll change. All up and down the streets of home, you’ll hear, here we go again.
I’ll be right back.
You can reach Joe Lee at email@example.com.