The beginning of the end

From Mary Schmich's August 1, 2008 column:

If you merely count the days from summer's official start in June until its finale in September, August 1 doesn't even mark the summer midpoint. But it does mark the high point, which means the beginning of the end.

The light shifts, softens. The shadows on the leaves and the living room floor make you wonder: When exactly did the wane start?

People in other places may not wonder, but Chicagoans are connoisseurs of summer light. We spot the changes as surely as a foodie detects the difference between fennel and star-anise.

I first observed the change yesterday, when we arrived at the archery range early, and despite the ravages of the drought, the fields appeared golden and beautiful. A couple of hours later, as I nursed a large mug of tea in the living room, I noticed the subtle change in color and shadow playing across both the backyard and the floor beside me. "The light has changed," I said to Mr. M-mv, and he agreed.

Autumn is coming, our second in the "forever home."

High school students in our area return to class soon, and in just four weeks, winter swim season and its daily two-hour evening practices begin. I have just a month, then, of early morning bike rides with the Misses remaining to me this year. Today we rode ten miles at a rather slow pace. We wanted to see the moon, the frog, the birds, the prairie flowers, the path, all bathed in the changing light.

It's only sixty degrees as I write this. It's so comfortable and beautiful in this spot by the window that I can hardly remember having to run the air conditioning 'round the clock just a few weeks ago, when even rising at 4:30 a.m. didn't guarantee a cool morning ride.

I am caught between two mindsets: Where did the summer go? and When will autumn arrive? For all of my "Focus on the moment you're in" admonitions, I still pine for dark-eyed juncos, cooler temps, sweaters, and the hint of not-too-distant snow in early morning's fragrance. I'm not a summer person. Still, where did that season wander off to? Blink. Gone.

Are you a "connoisseur of summer light," too?