Oh, you can tell. Never made it out of the sixties today, heading into the forties tonight. I asked my wife if I should make a fire. Deviously though, as if she were the one to want it:
“Not in August!”
I understand. Summer is a state of mind at seven thousand feet. (Believe you must, so you can have one.) This year it was actually “hot” for several days, the kind of thing where you feel the sun outside but dig the coolness in the old adobe when you come back home.
It rained all day today, an actual gray drizzle. The damp sharp cold triggered vague memories of other days and other places. I put on a sweatshirt so I could leave the front door open and hear the raindrops falling through the leaves.