Blogfather Jack is not alone in getting into a misty-eyed “whatever happened to summer” funk today. The same somber note sounded today in WWP’s head as he switched the interval windshield wipers from intermittent to low, and then to high, while careening down Hwy. 101 in search of a summer seafood luncheon. The unhappy clouds, nerving breeze and turned-off sun notwithstanding, the calendar says it is August. But the senses say it is autumn, or at the very least, that autumn is not far away.
Days like this are freighted with contradictions. As WWP writes this, fog is beginning to carpet the beaches of Lincoln City even as warm, pregnant clouds generously shed their moisture. The fireplace is roaring behind, yet all the windows are open. And though the temps are dipping into the 50s and 40s at night, all the diners are wearing shorts. Another dog day afternoon in Orelandia.
Autumn will come soon enough. WWP is content to number the days.
[No post tomorrow. If you want to keep up on WWP’s coastal adventure with the relatives, continue to check out WWP’s photos at right, or click here.]
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