Frosted

Oh, not tonight. Soon, though. Soon.

It'll be cool here tonight. The sumac has turned and this is our first deep cool evening.

I know it is too bloody early to say "fall" but there it is.

I was thinking today of the dreaded "dark and stormy" of Bulwer-Lytton (and Snoopy) fame.  So seldom does weather strike me in recent books. I know it is a transparent device but when I think of heat in West Texas from No Country for Old Men, it is a contributor to the tension for me. The Mexican dies in the heat alone and thirsty. The protagonist runs into trouble going out with water for the Mexican. These things figure strongly in the text.

So, I was thinking about the weather. Not something I feel adept at including in my text but something which I think of when I write a scene. I'll have enough trouble this round without being marked down for mentioning "bright cloudless skies" or any such bullshit.

Do you remember the smell inside and old church when it is really hot outside? I suppose everyone now is urban and all churches have air conditioning. When I was a boy this was not so. I remember distinctly the smell of oiled wood in the oppressive heat. I remember opening windows early Sunday before mattins to let the night air in and try and cool the baked-in heat.

 Anyway, today I was thinking of weather. Soon it will frost.