For a Somewhat Melodramatic Effect
I’m a restless lover of the seasons. I love spring, I love summer, I love fall, I love winter. But I’m always looking forward to the next season. For instance, right now I’m dreaming about spring, young leaves on trees, the first time you hear a lawn mower murmuring in the distance on a Saturday morning, the smell of cut grass carried on cool, crisp breezes under the warm sun in the afternoons. Rain on the concrete, dancing on the roof, falling in curtains while the sky flashes and rumbles during the first spring thunderstorm. Lightening!
And I’m not religious, but I do get excited by all the Easter consumerism shit in the grocery stores. Cadbury eggs! Peeps! Milk chocolate molded into a bunny shape, stuffed with peanut butter or caramel or marshmallow. Everything pastel-colored, promising sunny mornings full of squealing children and barking dogs and soon, picnics and barbeques and thick, fluffy flannel sleeping bags spread out inside dew-covered tents.
My girlfriend, who loves cold weather, hates how mild this winter has been. Whenever I mention how happy I am about the lack of snow, the mild, almost-warm days, the less frequent use of my dusty, musty winter coat, she makes some depressing remark about polar bears and melting ice caps and why don’t we just go ahead and mail flip-flops up north so that they’ll have something to shuffle around in once their icy tundra is lost. She is dreading warm weather. I am fantasizing about it constantly.
But, by mid-July, once I’ve had months of warm, then hot, weather, along with all the humidity this area has to offer (it offers a hell of a lot), I’ll be singing a different tune. It will sound something like, “I can’t wait to pull my scarves out from under the bed. I need my sweaters. How many weeks do we have until the leaves begin to change? I’m looking forward to pumpkins, holiday music, winter coats! It’s so fucking hot! I can’t wait for summer to be over, I’m absolutely miserable!”
I’m not exaggerating. This is how it always goes. I think I would be happiest if we had two weeks of freezing, snow-covered winter and two weeks of hot, sunny summer, and then we can split the difference between spring and fall. But alas, that’s not how it works. I suppose I should be happy that I get all four seasons. I loved living in Abu Dhabi and Cairo, but while there, I did miss all the green, all the rain, the snowfall in the winter, the constant droning of lawnmowers during the summer in the suburbs.
Now that I’m really thinking about all of this, though, I’ve come the realization that I might be willing to trade the four seasons for a return to the desert. Any desert would do, but I would prefer the Sahara or the Western Desert or the Libyan Desert, the bits of each that are in Egypt. There’s nothing quite like camping out in a huge wadi, or stargazing from the top of a massive sand dune, the air still and pleasant, the sand cool like water under your body. Yeah, take me back there. Just for a few days. I need to see the stars.
(For a somewhat melodramatic effect, I’ve included a picture of my visit to an archaeological in Fayyum when we lived in Egypt.)