CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: DAYS DECREASE AND AUTUMN GROWS EVERYWHERE

Some friends and I were lounging outdoors at a local drinking establishment the other night when someone noticed it was only 8 o'clock and dark already.

"I guess summer's over," he said, regretfully.

I always have mixed feelings at the end of summer; I love fall and I hate hot, humid weather, but after fall comes winter, and I don't like cold. There's something addictive about summer, something lazy and warm and sensual, like a cat stretched out asleep in the sun.

Then again, there's all that sweat and dehydration and heatstroke. So much for sensual.

Of course it could be worse. I spent a few weeks in Southern California one spring, and learned if there's anything I like less than uncomfortable weather, it's no weather at all.

There's just no pleasing some of us. I want what I want when I want it, and I don't mean just weather.

This summer seems to have flown by. For me at least, summer usually drags. It's too hot and humid for anything to get in too much of a hurry, I guess, even the weather.

It's not like the autumnal equinox will roll around and fall will automatically arrive.

It always takes several weeks for temperatures to coincide with the tilt of the earth's axis, or whatever it is that leans the hemisphere toward or away from the sun.

Translated: It'll be in the 80s and 90 till mid-October, so you still have time to get your dry cleaning done.

My sister tells me it's unnatural to love fall. "Everything's dying," she says. "It's depressing."

My sister loves summer. Of course, she's a teacher, so she's on vacation. What's not to love?

But I look forward to splashes of red and gold and orange and apple cider and the satisfying shock of the first chilly morning and knowing it's time to dig out the sweaters.

And I suppose the season appeals to my melancholy streak. Everything's dying, yes, but it dies so gloriously, like the heroine in an opera.

At least with winter approaching, I have a reason to be gloomy. And after winter comes spring, so there's a reason to cheer up.

Maybe instead of a calendar I need therapy.

It's hard to miss the signs of the seasonal change; stores are showing off fall sweaters and coats, football's back and all the sales circulars are advertising fall bulbs.

Another day or two, and all the stores will have their Christmas decorations out. And then they'll start advertising Halloween.

For once, this retail frenzy has served a purpose. Fall bulbs are in the store, and my father's birthday is in less than two weeks. He's been making noise about planting more tulips and daffodils.

This is not a coincidence. This is synchronicity or gestalt or something along those lines. Look it up.

This may be the only time in my life I don't have to hear him say, "Surprise me" in conjunction with a gift-giving occasion.

I really don't even mind that I'll be the one out there chopping up the zoysia thatch and clay that passes for a lawn at Pop's house. And this way, I get to pick out all the tulip colors.

Now if I can just figure out how to gift-wrap peat moss. ...

Peggy O'Farrel is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.