Summer is still in full swing here in Houston, and while that might sound wonderful for those who live in more northern climes, down here, the heat can get a bit oppressive. Recent high temperatures continue to flirt with 100°F, and any significant cool front seems to be weeks away. Here in the southern states, we can only be seen in the wild in those fleeting moments when darting from our air-conditioned cars into our air-conditioned homes or offices.
I’m exaggerating, but not by a whole lot.
Still, in the evenings, our patio isn’t too bad — it’s shaded, and we have two oscillating fans outside, so when the sun is low, the temperature is bearable. And it’s quickly becoming my Sunday evening space.
When I was younger — still in school — I remember that I found Sundays sort of melancholy. There was something sad about leaving the freedom of the weekend behind, and returning to the daily grind of the workweek. (Who am I kidding, I’ve found Sunday’s melancholy as an adult, too). But lately, I’ve been setting some time aside on Sunday evenings, to be quiet — often on our patio lately — in order to transition from the carefree-ness of the weekend to the get-down-to-business mindset of Monday and beyond. My favourite time to do this is during the golden hour: just before sunset, I take a mug of tea or a glass of wine outside, sometimes burn some incense (because there’s something about burning incense outside that feels special), and listen to the crickets begin to come alive. Often, I’m only there about 15 minutes (because Texas mosquitos are no joke, despite the bug-repellent candles), but it’s enough to get my head in the right space for the coming day.
The point is, I guess, that I need transition time. And it’s a lesson that I need to remember for other moments that I’m moving into that might require my A game.
Soundtrack: Beat goes on as performed by The All Seeing I