When I get in my car at 4:00 today, it’s 74 degrees and sunny.
It takes 35 minutes to drive to the coffee shop with the outdoor seating that doesn’t (totally) feel like I’m writing in a parking lot to the soundtrack of rush hour traffic. I check the thermostat on the dash at every red light. Seventy-two degrees. Sixty-eight.
If I drive faster, can I make the temperature stop dropping?
I take the final turn, side-eyeing a slow motion avalanche of clouds that was decidedly not up there when I left work. Still more white than grey, but hinting at rain. Hot latte today, for sure.
I set up my laptop. Headphones in, hoping I don’t look as cold as I feel as I greet my friend zooming in from balmy California.
The Weather Channel app says sixty-six, and now I know it’s going to be a race to the finish with the sun.
We turn off our cameras and microphones to write, planning to check back in after an hour.
Can I make it an hour, or will I need to relocate inside with the patrons who aren’t delusional about what season it is?
After months of this weekly routine, it feels like defeat to settle for artificial lighting and shared air. I’d always rather write outside.
Sixty-four, and the stream of cars to my right has turned their headlights on. It’s only 5:42—I am not ready for this.
If only the sun were still out. Sixty degrees and sunny would be a delight, but shadows are lengthening and the clouds are tinged with pink and purple as the sun sprints for the exit.
I may have to admit that fall is officially here, and it’s time to move my write-ins indoors.
Maybe next week.