Flavor of the Seasons

 I early learned to anticipate the arrival of Fall. The formal calendar date of the equinox means nothing to me. Rather I look forward to the first Norther. I will stand, facing and inhaling the cool dry air that has ridden from Canada just for my pleasure. 

Soon I will hear the first high, distant cry of the first flight of geese.  I feel a keen interest in the appearance of these mighty travelers. There is a  fundamental reaction, a visceral response to something ancient in our lineage, an uplifting of the soul that needs no explanation to those who know it – and which cannot be explained to those who do not.

Northers come in flavors. Some tiptoe in gently, almost timid in the way they  displace the humid South Texas heat with cool dry air that makes life bearable, and joyous. Others blast their way in like an unwelcome SWAT team breaking down a door. And unlike SWAT teams, which are monotonously black in their garb, Northers may wrap themselves in dark gray, angry clouds – or may adorn with delicate blue clear skies, decorated at times with high ice clouds that echo the sun.

The beauty of the changing seasons restores my soul.