I live in Miami and yet I’m hearing people talk about how they’re loving the fall weather. I suppose the mercury in the thermometer (or more likely the digits in the cell phone) have dwindled some degrees, but only from ninety two to eighty seven. Your shirt is still covered in sweat if you walk two blocks from the excessive humidity. If I woke up from a coma and it wasn’t for football being on TV I wouldn’t be able to guess the time of year.
I always considered myself too smart to live in a place where the weather truly got cold, but maybe I’m missing something from raking leaves and having a few more sweaters and jackets in my wardrobe. I lived at times in Northern Florida and Northern California where I could see a few trees change color and lose their leaves, but for the most past season change has been subtle.
Los Angeles was the guiltiest place in that respect. At one point my life I suppose had grown mundane and after I went for a run I would go to a park and do a few pull ups. I remember hanging from the bar looking out at a field where kids were playing baseball. I must have been a bit lightheaded from the exercise, because I truly forgot what time of year it was. They were playing baseball I reckoned for a second, it must be Spring. Now I can’t remember what time of year it actually was, but I remember being wrong when I regained my senses. To some hell is the absence of change to others it is heaven.