There are no seasons where I live, only weather that is either hot and dry or hot and wet.
The sun has been shining fiercely for weeks now. There’s a restlessness that comes before a storm, and I dream of when the Northeast monsoon winds will finally carry rain from the waters of the South China Sea to the little tropical island where I live on the equator.
If you live in seasonal climes, you’re most likely wrapped in fleece and flannel, a little confounded that I take the heat and perpetual sunshine for granted. The grass, as they say, is greener on the other side, even if, on the other side, the grass is turned brown and in patches.
Ocotber is all about the nip in the morning air, of piled pumpkins, squash, and corn spilling over crates at the greengrocer’s, the sight of little Pocahontas costumes on sale, and as the late Andy Williams sang, of wine-coloured days warmed by the sun.
Related posts in Featherglass on Colour (several in a 12-part series):