It's far too fabulous and appealing a season to not love.
I run in the early morning. As a profuse sweater even in drier climate, running any later than 8 a.m. here would be indecent. Yesterday I ran by our Hardware store's electronic temperature sign at 7:20 a.m.
It was 77 degrees.
My shoes and socks and cap are soaked and have to be carefully set out to dry for the next day's run.
The forecast calls for low to mid-90s for the rest of the weekend. In these temperatures even a leisurely ride to the office has to be followed by a sponge bath in the office sink. That's when I'm grateful Gus is my only co-worker, he doesn't mind my sloppy semi-nude appearance. My mind wanders back to last summer when my pregnancy belly prompted everyone to compliment me on my glow - this summer, I'm just the sweaty, frizzy-haired Mommie of an almost 9 month old, wondering how much hairspray and powder it would take to look like the very put-together lady in front of me at the bakery. Wet curls only look good on Gus - not me.
But then there are the lighting bugs' sparkling dances at dusk, the balmy evenings, the shady swimming holes in the forest, the endless chorus of the cicadas, the abundance of shockingly beautiful flower beds around town, the soothing whir of our ceiling fans at night and the utterly peaceful feeling that embraces me when I sit down on our porch in the afternoon, with a glass of ice tea in my hand. Finally the light breeze makes the sweat on my arms feel good.
I miss Colorado in the winter. I love the Southeast in the summer.