We may not have New England’s autumn glory, but we can claim a nip in the air | Opinion

Already, it’s September. Soon, stores will be adorned with the colorful decorations of the fall and winter seasons. The seasons are a signal that life, indeed, is short.

And we seem to make it shorter each year as businesses rush to be the first to exhibit their latest decorations.

Why, we barely get past Labor Day before many of us start hanging up Halloween fare and stocking up on weight-gaining sugary treats that we claim we are putting aside for the holiday’s trick-or-treaters.

I’m happy to report that I don’t have to buy such treats anymore. As one of the oldest residents on my street, the children simply pass by my house on Halloween. While I love children and have always had a special bond with the little ones, the trick-or-treaters stopped coming to my door several years ago.

I’m OK with that. It is a blessing for me not to have to fool myself in thinking that it would be wasteful not to eat the leftover sweet stuff.

Frankly, I love the changing of the seasons. It’s just that in South Florida, the changing of the seasons come quietly. One day we are complaining about the heat, and the next day the weather has turned cool.

The changing of the seasons brings on the holidays. I love the holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the getting together with family and friends. I just don’t care that much for the commercializing of the holidays that are sacred to some of us.

So, as we move into September, thoughts of falling leaves — orange and red and gold — enter my mind. I remember a time, several years ago, when my son Shawn took me on a tour to see the changing of the leaves.

Everywhere I looked, the world was ablaze with the beautiful colors of the season. It looked as if God had taken a paint brush and colored the world just for me. We drove along the coast of Maine, past the compound where former President George Bush and his wife, first lady Barbara, lived.

It was early October. We stopped at a restaurant that was about to close for the season, and I had lobster pot pie and fresh fried clams for the first time. Simply scrumptious.

We drove through tiny villages, where we saw houses that looked like something out of a fairy tale. We stopped beside fenced properties where llamas were gently grazing.

It was sweater-weather there. There was a definite nip in the air, and I loved it. But soon, it was time for me to return home, where people were still wearing bathing suits and basking in the sun on the beach.

We South Floridians don’t see much in the way of our trees changing into blazing colors of yellow, gold, red and orange. But we have the Royal Poinciana trees in the spring and summer, painting the sky with their magnificent red canopy.

I don’t have autumn leaves falling in my yard, but I do have a 25-year-old frangipani tree, which drops its delicate pink flowers well into our winter. Its oval-shaped leaves spread like a gigantic green umbrella, giving shade to my front porch. And while it’s not quite like the autumn leaves up North, which carpet the ground like a rich Turkish rug to signal the fall season, my tree serves me fine. I know the season has changed when the last leaf falls and when there are no more pink blossoms.

Even when it is still hot in South Florida, with no nip in sight, you will be able to tell when the nip sneaks in if you pay close attention. It won’t be because the weather forecaster announced it. But you can tell when the nip graces our atmosphere because even with the hot sun bearing down, you can kind of sniff it. And you will say to yourself, “Yup. It’s here. There is a nip in the air.”

Now, I can’t tell you exactly when the nip will show up. The Florida sun can be blazing hot, but a true Floridian can sense when the nip arrives. There is just something about the way the air smells, the way it stirs. The air seems sweeter.

I can’t describe it. You just have to be alert and look for it. And you will know when the nip arrives.

It has been my experience that the nip in the air happens somewhere around the second week in October. You simply wake up one morning and there it is. While you slept, the nip floated in on a gentle breeze.

I can hear my Northern friends laughing as I write this. They think it funny that I should be talking about a nip in the air. It’s OK. I laugh along with them. Not everyone can have this seventh sense that tells you when the nip arrives. Maybe I’m just special, that way.

Anyway, not to worry. We still have a few more weeks before the nip arrives. Meanwhile, let’s just enjoy September and stay tuned.

The nip is coming. I’ll let you know when it gets here.