I opened the door to get the newspaper yesterday morning and noticed immediately that something was right. Something that hadn’t been right in a while. Something welcome and wonderful: the air was cool.
Yes, right here on the cusp of the Great Plains, right here where the heat index has been in triple digits pretty much ever since the Dark Ages, that’s right; the morning air was cool. So cool that I opened the door to the screened in porch and left it open. Opened the kitchen windows and the window in the mudroom. Stood there and felt the cool caress me for a moment. A fine splendid moment.
I closed my eyes and thought of season’s change for a moment, remembering leaves turning and tumbling. Air crisp like fresh apples and clean as a mountain spring. Air that defines the boundaries and invites you beyond them. Air that seems to bring a brighter look to things. Cool, refreshing autumn air.
Now, of course, by eight-thirty, it was time to close the windows and door. It is still August, after all. And until seasons are finished and the cycles of turning from one time to another are finished, the changing of air will always be a fickle thing. But the fellowship of the Spirit in the bonds of love, now that is another matter altogether. That is a refreshing whose time will never end.