I truly thought it would have gotten cold by now. I was so excited to come out here to Colorado, thinking that my favorite day would come early, compared to the last places I've lived (the Low Country, Occupied West Texas, and the Taint of Death Valley). Since I was a little girl, I have counted the moments every summer until that moment I am sure that cold weather is upon me. There's a day in the fall when the skies are gray, there is a persistent drizzle, and the temperature is a constant 45-50 degrees all day. It never snows on this day, but it makes me think of snow fondly. It smells like fireplace smoke and tastes like hot chocolate. I always try and get out of the house on this day, so I can listen to the cars make swooshy, slushy noises. I get to wear sweaters and I spend at least part of the day snuggled under a blanket, and it makes me very, very happy.
But that day hasn't arrived yet. It's not even close. The whole next week will be overly warm, and there's not even a remote chance of rain in any of that time. I'm at a loss to explain how this happened. We made jokes about how there's always a chance of snow in September out here, but we never even brushed against it. I worried about the man going on his exciting vacation for three weeks without hooking up the new thermostat in case it got cold, and yet I never once considered turning on the heat the entire time he was gone.
Ah, who am I to complain, really? I know damned well that by February I will be so sick to death of cold, I will be asking to fly back to visit my friends in the Low Country, just to warm up a few degrees. For now, my garden is still going crazy, and my flowers out front are still blooming. I needed extra weeks for my tomatoes to ripen and my new perennials to get established. The animals still get to play outside. All the windows get to be open day and night. It's gorgeous out there. I just wish... for one day....
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