Temperature is a skilled communicator, even in small doses. Under normal circumstances, minute changes we might not notice are essential for sparking bird migration; more extreme fluctuation is the very heart of concerns regarding what long-term havoc climate change could wreak on our environment.
Yesterday evening while walking our dogs, we tuned into temperature. The quality of the air had shifted, but nearly imperceptably so. Our neighbhorhood was bustling with the usual activity of football practice in Judkins Park and as we set out, it felt like any other day. Twenty minutes into the walk, as we turned to head back home, facing towards the western view of city and sound, time slowed down by just one tick. The sound of our own footsteps, clicking of dog nails on concrete, echoes of yelling children, and bike gears whizzing by were all simultaneously amplified and stretched out. The park we bisect almost daily, while shaped in high relief by setting sun against crisp blue sky, softened as we passed through; we were cushioned, comforted.
Perhaps just one degree colder, and we'd have thrilled at the familiarly nostalgic feeling of fall encroaching, but strangely this wasn't the mixed-emotion pang we know so well which accompanies that seasonal shift. Not fully realized, this was a stage before the annual recognition of the snap which we'd never detected before. Soon, we thought, it is going to feel like the moment where we sense that fall is coming. But not quite yet.
add to digg
add to stumble upon
add to reddit
email this
add to facebook
add to del.icio.us
I noticed this, too, walking around yesterday evening. And then this morning, too, the breeze seemed to smell differently, more crisp.