Have a look.
72 degrees in the day, 43 at night. (22/6 C)
But wait!
Come Sunday, we slide to a daytime 61 degrees, 37 at night. (16/3 C)
Like bbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! {snark}
Folks in Snow Country may understandably call this paradise. I call it purgatory, sort of.
Traipsing about in flip-flops in January feels absurd.
Ditto having my windows wide open to let in spring-like sunshine and air.
I’m an earthy seasons-attuned hippy barefoot sorta girl. And my body’s shouting: What the fuck?!?
Body and psyche innately keep reaching for that reset button of reflective winter … that rhythm of the seasons.
And they keep coming up empty-handed. ‘Cause they ain’t there!
I’ve lived in places with four distinct seasons. I felt at home, on point, in tune, in sync with nature. Fulfilled.
Southern Arizona, like Phoenix, has whacked out my inner compass that naturally points to the Four Directions and Four Seasons.
That compass is erratically madly spinning as if I’ve landed in the Bermuda Triangle.
I miss snow and blizzards — though I wouldn’t wanna live in ’em.
I miss rain – deeply.
I miss cloudy gray skies — though I absolutely wouldn’t return to the Pacific Northwest!
Believe it or not, you can actually tire of blue sunny skies! … the redundancy … the boredom.
It’s like anything, say coffee.
Drink the same brand every day every month every year and the palate loses its ability to discern. It needs variety to keep it sharp, informed and on point, otherwise it sinks into the slumber of boredom.
Variety IS the spice of life. And necessary.
I’ve written it before but it bears repeating.
Jan. 7 2020. It’s 72 degrees in the day, 43 at night.
Yet there shall be no gloating, no “read it ‘n’ weep” aimed at folks in winter from these quarters.
I WISH I were where you are! — for a spell.
I envy your biting cold and white stuff and dynamic skies and, yes, the use of a furnace!
Early January and I’ve yet to turn on the heat in my studio. But you can bet that air-conditioner’s gonna be up and running way too soon and long!
The holidays are past so I can’t say I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.
Here in weirdly warm Phoenix, I’m dreaming only of styrofoam pretending to be snow spread across my floor.
I’m dreaming of white fake snow …
Allelujah, Arizona! 