I just checked the extended forecast. No temperatures above 70º for a while. Or at least until I check it again tomorrow morning and it's completely changed. And again by the time I leave my 9 o'clock class and go to lunch. I'll be ok though, my mom taught me to layer my clothing: thermal T, longsleeve T, zip-up hoodie, peacoat. Thanks mom.
If you couldn't guess, I'm from the south.
I know what you're thinking, "Only three blogs in and he's already talking about the weather..." But give me a chance here. It's called an introduction, and apparently it's the appropriate way to lead into the main point of the text. Future Lit Studies majors take note.
It's fall, I think. That's what they tell me at least. I'm not from around these parts, or from anywhere where the seasons flow visibly from one into the next. Autumn has come bringing some cooler weather, and though the past two years I've frozen my nuggets off at about this time, the mild transition has been much appreciated.
Back home (Dallas) the transition from our primary season, Summer, to the marginally brief other season, Not-Summer, comes in like a rock-hauler doing 90 in the right lane of the highway with a broken axel and no power steering. Then exits leaving nothing but dead tree branches, a pile of brown, decayed leaves, and another disappointing Super Bowl in its wake.
(Here's where I make my actual point.)
Earlier this week I had the distinct pleasure of witnessing something I had never before seen in my lifetime: Leaves, gilded and bronzed, flowing from the branches of a tree and winding through the air as jubilantly as a 5 year old's first ride on Disney's Space Mountain, then peacefully coming to their serene resting place next to the other hundred leaves whose journey had just been completed as well.
I stood in awe of such a simple pleasure.
I had seen leaves before. I've even attempted to rake and pile them in my front lawn and jump into the mound like I was in a Calvin and Hobbes comic. The result was not nearly as spectacular as Mr. Watterson would have you believe.
This rain of foliage, with the reds and greens of the other trees and the Ad building in the background, was picturesque. It rivaled seeing the campus frosted white with snow like tiered wedding cake, in late December.
(For the aforementioned Lit Studies majors, here's your resolution-wrapped-in-a-bow conclusion.)
In the past two years there have been times I've questioned my relocation from metropolitan suburbia to the heart of a fly-over state. Yet despite my questioning, there have been moments like these that give a resounding answer.
It was a surprising sight, mainly because I was rocking basketball shorts, a T, and flip-flops, but moving nonetheless. Now as it gets colder... I'll have less to write about because I've exhausted my "the weather is changing" blog.