At home in Moose Pass, clear skies brought nighttime temperatures down to the mid-twenties, effectively stamping “closed” on the summer of 2011.
A hundred and thirty road miles south and five miles across Kachemak Bay, clear skies found me taking my morning tea on the front deck, perfectly comfortable in short sleeves. Next to me, a potted lily continued to bloom in the temperate maritime clime.
My friends in the southern states, however, would consider fifty degrees downright chilly and remain inside.
That is not to say that autumn eludes this cove, but there is no evidence of frost having visited here. Though the foliage shows autumn colors,
berries continue to ripen,
and above-ground water lines flow with clean, cold water from mountain streams. It’s far too soon for homeowners here to switch to their water storage tanks for winter.
While I sit on the deck, I wonder—if I lived here year ‘round, would I ever take this view for granted?
Would the extreme tides, more dependable than anything known in the world of humankind, become so commonplace I failed to notice them?
How could I?