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Jun. 17th, 2012 06:03 pmSummer has come to mean so many things over the years. My earliest associations are with the great blast of Florida heat and figuring out all sorts of ways to run from one heavily a/c'ed space to another with the minimum of outdoor time. Then, when we were forced outside, I remember heavy clouds or long shadows - never the sheering blindness of midday. Summer never really ended or started, either, was only defined by the ending and beginning of the school year. The heat never waned, after all. The leaves never changed. And it always rained.
Then there was Seattle. We got there at the tailing end of summer, so nothing was at first different. Just a little cooler. Just a little less rain. Then we lived through the chill of autumn and the dreary, lingering winter. Spring burst forth with color and life, but summer was really the start of things. More than January, June felt like a new beginning.
Now in the desert, it's surprisingly similar. The winter is bright and happy, but still cold. And so very bone dry. And that dryness lingers, withering plants, cacti, roads and people. And just when you're starting to despair, just when you're wondering why the hell you came to the desert, just when the heat is getting to be too much and you're waking up with one too many nosebleeds:
BAM
Monsoon.
Clouds come from nowhere. The heat builds to a crescendo until you can't bear it, then the winds break in. Humidity sticks to everyone, making them crotchety. Making them hopeful. You notice the clouds because any respite from the sun is welcome and there are so few trees. You don't want to hope, but you can't help it. You watch. You wait. You check the weather online for any hint of a when or a where. And then you catch a whiff of wet creosote on the wind. It smells vaguely like fresh asphalt, but it's the most refreshing smell in the desert. Because it means rain.
Summer is the start of a new beginning in the desert. It's a fresh flush of life. It's a hopeful time, even when it's so fucking hot. It's a time of renewal. And now, more than ever, it feels like a new year.
So maybe that's why the start of summer finds me so introspective these days. That and soon I'll be turning another year older. I think: what have I achieved? I wonder: what do I want to achieve? Who am I now, and who do I want to be?
And I'll ponder these questions while I wait for the rain, while I wait for that crescendo of heat and unpleasantness, finally broken with a crash and the smell of creosote.
Then there was Seattle. We got there at the tailing end of summer, so nothing was at first different. Just a little cooler. Just a little less rain. Then we lived through the chill of autumn and the dreary, lingering winter. Spring burst forth with color and life, but summer was really the start of things. More than January, June felt like a new beginning.
Now in the desert, it's surprisingly similar. The winter is bright and happy, but still cold. And so very bone dry. And that dryness lingers, withering plants, cacti, roads and people. And just when you're starting to despair, just when you're wondering why the hell you came to the desert, just when the heat is getting to be too much and you're waking up with one too many nosebleeds:
BAM
Monsoon.
Clouds come from nowhere. The heat builds to a crescendo until you can't bear it, then the winds break in. Humidity sticks to everyone, making them crotchety. Making them hopeful. You notice the clouds because any respite from the sun is welcome and there are so few trees. You don't want to hope, but you can't help it. You watch. You wait. You check the weather online for any hint of a when or a where. And then you catch a whiff of wet creosote on the wind. It smells vaguely like fresh asphalt, but it's the most refreshing smell in the desert. Because it means rain.
Summer is the start of a new beginning in the desert. It's a fresh flush of life. It's a hopeful time, even when it's so fucking hot. It's a time of renewal. And now, more than ever, it feels like a new year.
So maybe that's why the start of summer finds me so introspective these days. That and soon I'll be turning another year older. I think: what have I achieved? I wonder: what do I want to achieve? Who am I now, and who do I want to be?
And I'll ponder these questions while I wait for the rain, while I wait for that crescendo of heat and unpleasantness, finally broken with a crash and the smell of creosote.
