-{ redgeek.net }-

From 09/13/2005, regarding driving in to San Diego from the dry summer air of Phoenix:

_ Back then, I could smell the salt in the air all the way out in Alpine, forty miles inland. I’d be rocketing in from El Centro on I-8, windows down, stereo sweating. Pulling deeply, I’d savor the indication of the ocean, dowsing my emotions in water. Eventually, I’d only be able to smell it standing on the cliffs in Pacific Beach. People are adaptable like that, and sometimes I despise it. Sometimes, it’s disappointing to adapt. Sometimes, I want to suspend change. I want to smell the salt again. _

And now I smell the autumn air. It hit me harder this year; more noticeable, more prevalent. There’s a distinct briskness to the air. Paired with a a confluence of other factors, of evening traffic home with the sun already set; the accumulation of ocher, tan, and sienna leaves, bare branches reaching toward an empty azure sky. There’s something about the chill you can smell; it delicately frosts your nostrils on a sharp inhale.

I’m reminded of trick-or-treaters, of the long desert drive home for the holidays, of the nostalgia of Stegner’s Crossing to Safety. There’s a placid stillness before the whirlwind of impending holidays. Hot cider appears on the menu of local coffee houses and pumpkin spice shakes at the ice creamery. It’s a SoCal autumn, where you can get away with a single layer during the day, and only need to burrow into a sweatshirt at night.

The salt smell reasserts it’s dominance, and I’m reminded of my childhood, my transplantation and resurrection. Of find and re-defining myself in this town, a mere twelve years ago.

Where has the time gone?