The air was "moist." No, I'm not beginning a column by quoting from "Throw Mama from the Train." The air was actually hot and humid the other night. As I walked across the parking lot of my apartment complex, I began to get flushed.
The air was oppressively hot and sticky. A heavy cloud hung over my building and my upstairs apartment was boiling.
I've read a pretty good cross-section of columns based on the changes of the season but only now in the middle of freaking November mind you do I feel the urge to throw my thoughts into the fray.
It's not so much that I have fond memories of the change from summer to fall or fall to winter. I really don't care either way.
I may have, buried somewhere deep inside, memories of spending time in the park with a girlfriend, wasting away a weekday when I should've been in school, in the early fall, as the warm summer sun was slowly defeated by the cool fall breeze, heralding the impending winter of discontent.
I do, in fact, have memories of early spring Sundays, bundled in sweaters, breaking bread crumbs for hungry, swollen ducks, while huddled with a girl on a park bench near a lake in my hometown as we tried to determine who had the bluest fingers on that bright March day.
But it's not the weather that I care about. As seasons change from warm to cold or vice versa, it's not the loss of radiating sunlight or crisp, cold, invigorating mornings that stir my ire or may lead to my content.
It's the lack of persistence on the part of Mother Nature that gets my goat. Sunday morning, as I awoke shivering, I decided that since I was going to be sticking around my apartment for a while, I would turn on the strange gas heater I have built into the wall between my bedroom and living room.
However, it was no later than Monday evening I was forced to start my ceiling fan and crank up my air conditioner.
With the cold snap a couple of weeks ago, I had almost decided it was time to pack up my window-unit and store it away for the winter. As the seal around it is not quite as tight as I would recommend (after all, I installed it myself), a biting wind sometimes flows through and depending on where you are in the room, completely reverses any effect the gas heater has on your level of comfort.
But after this week's indecision on the part of Mother Nature as to which season November should indicate, I think I'll delay my plans. It's not that I'm irked by seasonal changes and alternating climate-types. We all know that the seasons of spring and fall are transitional periods seasons of hibernation and rebirth. But don't we all expect consistent, gradual seasonal changes.
I know it's not officially winter until the middle of December but don't you think someone should've made up their mind by the middle of November as to where on the thermometer she wanted us to spend the rest of the year?
Michael Davis is the public safety reporter for the Daily Herald. His column appears on Fridays. He can be reached at (770) 957-9161 or via e-mail at email@example.com.