As the heat began to wane at summer’s end, it sometimes happened in late afternoon that certain softer hues in the broad sky and certain strokes of cold breezes already signaled the coming of autumn. There was still no discoloring or falling of leaves, nor yet that vague anxiety we naturally feel when we see death all around us, since we know ours will also come. But there was a sort of flagging of all effort, a vague slumber fallen over these last signs of action. Ah, with so much sad indifference in these afternoons, the autumn begins in us before it begins in things.
—Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
Last week was typical of late July, steamy and rainy, with highs in the mid-to-upper nineties, and humidity sucking the life out of everything (except the maddening insects). We were trapped deep in the sweaty crotch of summer, and it was miserable. But following yet another thunderstorm late Thursday, we only reached a high of seventy-one yesterday. All the warehouse doors were opened to let the fresh, cool air in. We even turned off the air conditioner at home to sleep with the windows open. Best of all, this merciful interlude is supposed to last all week. It’s hardly revelatory, but it’s still impressive how much better your entire outlook is when you feel physically comfortable. Energy and optimism surge. Sad indifference? Not so much. Now I’ve caught my second wind to get me through the last month or so of summer’s fury.