The weekend of Labor Day, temperatures in Chicago were in the 90's. Then, BAM! The bottom falls out. Now, we're struggling for 70's (though today is pretty nice). I'm not sure whether I should be happy or not that I go to the train in the morning and it is 45 degrees. I know that I am disgusted by the shortening of the days. The sun used to come up before I woke up; now it doesn't rear itself until I'm done with my shower. Life's a lot harder when you wake up and it's dark outside.
I was reflecting a bit on the end of my first post-collegiate summer, and as I am apt to do while thinking, reading Calvin and Hobbes. There are very few life cues that I would take from Calvin, but relaxing under (or in) a tree would be very nice. It's a pleasure usually reserved for those who are careless and pre-pubescent, or at least for those who haven't passed that arbitrary threshold of 18 and 'adulthood.' Unfortunately, cities don't lend themselves to that kind of escape very often. One time, one of the first really nice days of spring, a friend was sitting on a bench on the University of Chicago quad. I walked over and sat next to her, and she said "Look out there. I've counted two guys in trees and one in a bush." Sure enough, two guys (both shirtless and bearded) were taking naps in two different trees. And, also sure enough, there was another guy somehow balancing himself in the branches of a bush. I'll probably wait until it gets a little more autumnal before I climb a tree. After all, the leaves are still green. We have another month or so before that shift happens. In the meantime, I will continue to sit in my office, overlooking the treeless city of Chicago, drinking chai, and impossibly pretending that summer isn't really gone.