It’s like the tides, only slower. There’s this nursery I used to drive by on the way to work, with the majority of the plants layed out on a very long piece of black gardener’s cloth. In the winter, when there’s no snow, that dark rectangle is totally exposed, stretching from one end of the building to the edge of the property. Not long after the cold gives way to early hints of spring, the heartier plants arrive and are placed on the ground closest to the door. As we head into summer, the open space is filled with green and color. Then, some time near the end of July, the movement reverses itself. Plants are purchased and consolidation begins, with the space opening up again.
I used to really look forward to winter. I loved pulling out the winter coat, the hats, gloves, and all of that. So when those first signs of autumn showed up, I was all for it. Bring on that crisp air. Take me away from the heat. The heat that’s been making me so uncomfortable for all of these months. Now I see the signs, I see that receding “tide,” and it fills me with a kind of dread. The funny thing is that it’s not the characteristics of winter that’s causing this because I’m still the kind of person who likes to walk outside in January when it’s 10 below zero and the wind is forcing the tree branches to make that sinister clacking sound.
So it seems that for me, the passing of time is more strongly marked by winter’s onset than the bloom of spring or the heat of summer. Why that is I can’t say.
September is only a month away. I heard that on the radio last night. The DJ was talking about it just before launching into some heated reggae music. Yeah, it’s still summer (or “summah,” as they say around here). I should just enjoy it while it lasts.
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