It’s often said by many that Arizona lacks seasons. This isn’t true. Take now, for instance. I can tell beyond doubt that Fall has arrived…at long last. How can I tell? The mornings have a slight biting chill to them. I walk out my front door, take a breath and think, “Huh, it must be getting cold somewhere.” And flowers look happy all by themselves. I can relax for a whole day without worrying they might die from my neglect. And I crave soup…even chile…something to make me break a sweat, a bodily function I’ve spent all summer getting intimate with. And there’s driving.
I know the seasons have shifted when I swear more in my car.
Is it the Seasonal Affected Disorder (SAD…yes, that’s what it’s called. Aren’t doctors hilarious.) that haunts me whenever the sun slings low in the sky? Perhaps. But I blame Winter Visitors (aka Snow Birds), the hoards who flee the winter that has already descended on Iowa, Ohio, Michigan…all of Canada. They migrate here before my week-long Fall season is even half-over and flood the streets. They tote along their regional traffic rules—yield on green, weave between lanes whenever it strikes your fancy, apply left turn signal a minimum of five miles before your anticipated turn—and in response, I swear and shake my fist…and maybe, just for a tiny moment, I get nostalgic for summer.
p.s. When I’m feeling down, I find solace in cheerful authors, like Albert Camus, who once said, “Autumn is a second spring, when every leaf is a flower.” Or Kafka, who no doubt year-round asked himself, “What am I doing here in this endless winter?”