October 14, 2002, 8:33 pm
This autumn has barely felt like autumn: temperatures have been dancing around the low 80s (humidity staying right where it always does: insufferable) and the leaves have steadfastly grasped the waxy green they've been since April. All season I have groaned upon bursting outside in the morning that today would be another muggy day in which my soccer players will whine about how "hot" they are and how they need another drink after running for 35 seconds. Such has been this autumn, until today.
Today was the perfect fall-soccer day. It was crisp and cool and for the first time, people were wearing fall jackets and sweatshirts. It's getting too cold for open-toed shoes, short-sleeved shirts, and soccer shorts. Each time I inhale the sharp, decaying smell of fall fills my body with the message that fall is finally, here: "Relish this day, its clarity. Feel it breathing! It is October!"
But it's too late. It doesn't carry the feeling of pencils and pumpkins, but the sad reminder that winter will be here sooner than expected. We have missed fall and all its cinnamony goodness; its earth tones and foliage and general feelings of rejuvenated schedules and predictability have been usurped by a summer desperate to cling on. I am sad that the leaves will be gone before I can take in their brilliant mustards and vermillions and oranges, and I'm even more sad that I'm afraid this will be a trend in years to come with our increasingly violent summers that kill.
Fall-soccer weather is just not to be anymore, I suppose.