Turns out it isn’t the weather: it’s me. It just doesn’t take much sun and heat to make me say “yep, that was summer, is it fall yet?” Even here in the Pacific Northwest, where a real scorcher is 85F and the average is more like 75F, I am being a party pooper spoilsport and looking forward to the dark, rainy winter.
At least it isn’t the abject misery of the Midwestern summer. At least we aren’t trapped in the house. But, as I said, I am apparently capable of complaining about summer no matter how mild it is.
It’s been a beautiful one, though. We’ve packed a lot in. Life is very, very sweet.