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The Seasons
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The seasons here are in mano a mano confrontation. As I stepped outside this morning to feed Jasmine and the cats, the sunshine was brilliant, intense, all-consuming, the way it is in the summertime.

As I moved into the shadow of the garage, it seemed the wind came up, the air was cold and winter laughed at me, "Here I come, ready or not."

Hot in the sunshine, cold in the shadow, with a chill breeze to boot.

What my New England ancestors used to call Pneumonia Weather, back in the days when pneumonia was the number one killer.

I used to teach my elementary school students to dress like an onion in this kind of weather--in layers. Peel off the outer one when you're hot, and then, before the sweat can start to chill you off, put one of your layers back on. (I know: that's something mother is supposed to teach you, but those children often had absentee mothers and were raised by TV).

Sometimes an Onion Day would coincide with a Color Day (which the children and I did just for fun) when you were supposed to wear the brightest colors you owned. As the children put on and took off various items of clothing it was like a garden of flowers in motion, with one really big flower in the middle.

No wonder my principal said I was "different." Better different than difficult, I suppose.

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