Dear Mr. Klinkenborg,
I can't remember all those days where I thought, this is a perfect day. I tend to say it aloud alot during the day which encourages me to remember it and my friends and family to ignore me. Thinking it through, I note my memories collection of perfect days are mostly in the summer. Why is that? My internal sense of order wishes for a memory of every season's perfect day.
Fall is the easiest to think about; when red, orange and yellow leaves light up the trees and the air stays at a steady 70 degrees. A cool breeze, enough to stir tendrils of hair. Sun and blue sky. My family has the tradiiton of picnicing at an apple orchard. I like to lay in the sun on a cool leaf strewn patch of long green grass and watch the leaves move in the wind. The sun warms my face but wearing a sweater still feels good.
Here in Minnesota, a perfect Winter day would have to include at least an inch of fresh snow, covering everything. The sun would make the snow cells individually sparkle. Maybe a temperature of 10-20 degrees with very little wind. I enjoy walking down neighborhood streets on those perfect days. In fact, a night walk after fresh snow can make for a perfect evening too.
Some years, I worry about how easy it is to avoid Winter. Last year, I cross country skiied more than some previous years and found, anew, how much more I love winter when I spend time in it. Not scurrying ( and scurrying with an animal edge to it is what it feels like) from my car to the office, grocery store or home. The cold becomes an inconvenience. I complain more, silently and aloud.
I don't really like early spring's muddy imprints; I try to appreciate all the work going on to move into the warmth of full summer green. Spring and I have an never ending problem. I want to see Spring happen but the growth moves too fast, most of the time, for me to catch. I notice a perfect day seems to need a combination of sun and wind; Spring generally has too much wind and a weak sun. I guess I could cheat and say I like late Spring which is really just early Summer.
I don't know what your weather has been like this summer. The heat and especially the humidity started early in Minnesota. My backyard deck overlooks a forest; mostly old growth Maples and Oaks climbing up the side of steep slope toward our old wooden deck. Huge branches shade the deck.
One night last week, the sky turned purple, and in unison, the entire forest of branches began to move back and forth in a straight line wind storm. Later, I noticed two large branches had snapped off the large Maple, mostly surrounded by other Maple trees. The capriciousness of wind and nature at work.
I like storms. It's odd but I admire the strength of such winds. I wrote an essay on the wind and fell in love with detail and precision of the Beaufort scales. I bet the winds in that storm would be considered "gale force 39- 46 miles per hour. Difficult to walk against wind, twigs and branches blown off trees. On the sea, moderately high waves 5.5 meters, crests break into spindrifts." It is the perfect way to talk about the wind.
Margot Storti-Marron
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