Today feels like a prelude to fall, in that inimitable Ohio way in which the seasons herald themselves here, coyly at first but then inevitably.
Temperatures, which boiled with heat indexes in the 100s and open-faucet-level sweating humidities when August started, are now in the upper 60s, and I actually had to put my light jacket on this morning to prevent from being cold.
August is the month that usually comes in like a lion, and departs like a lamb.
The cicadas are in their final estertores and their zesty early August maracas are sounding more like a rather sad, if eerie, sputtering hizz.
While I love fall, I do not like that it is the prelude to winter. And it feels like I left that evil winter of 2006 behind only the other day.
But I'm rehearsing a new-old attitude to all things in life (old, because I've long known it's the best attitude and new because I'm giving it another chance). What I can't change, I will hand over to the fates and try not to obsess and wallow in anxiety about it.
I can't change the seasons, and I have as much power to stop winter from coming as I have of preventing the passage of time.
The better idea, then, I'm thinking, is to enjoy the coolness of the day and let the rest take care of itself.
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