August 7
At 7 am I wake up to the singing of cicadas and 80% humidity at the temperature of 32 degrees. The first thing on my mind is to turn on the air conditioner but the rest of me desperately wants to get some fresh air no matter how muggy it may be. I gulp down a glass of cold water but I know I’ve probably lost three times as much liquid through the night. I turn on the TV and see a reporter holding a big thermometer in hand with its red bar almost reaching 40. Thirty years ago it would have made breaking news but now it’s become an everyday sight. I finally open the windows and the singing gets louder. I reach for the remote and turn up the volume.
November 7
At 7 am I wake up to a phone alarm and 80% humidity at the temperature of 32 degrees. The first thing on my mind is to turn on the air conditioner but the rest of me desperately wants to get some fresh air no matter how muggy it may be. I gulp down a glass of cold water but I know I’ve probably lost three times as much liquid through the night. I turn on the TV and see a reporter holding a big thermometer in hand with its red bar almost reaching 40. Thirty years ago it would have made breaking news but now it’s become an everyday sight. I finally open the windows and it’s silent outside. I reach for the remote and turn down the volume — just to see if I can hear any singing of cicadas. I don’t.
In 2025 that’s how I know fall has come.
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