Passage of Time

I've always lived in a climate marked by the seasons.  As the years have passed, the seasons seem to have shed the predictable pattern of my youth and instead weave and blur more often - barely a spring here, a very rainy fall there, an unseasonably warm winter everywhere.  But there were always rituals that signaled the end of one period and the commencement of another, moments that steadfastly marked the relentless march of days and reminded me of the ebb and flow of time.

Time seems to pass more quickly in Hong Kong, with nothing to break up the steady 80-90 degree heat day in and day out.  Time seems to swirl by in a blur of open-toed shoes, al fresco dining and sunscreen nearly year round.

I am in disbelief that it is September.  Yet with temperatures still hovering in the 90s and the promise of another two months of heat and humidity, my usual "Where did the summer go?" lament fails to strike the proper note of woe and nostalgia.

I've only recently realized the significance that American holidays like Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day play for my internal metronome. At first I chuckled at the experience of adjusting to a new holiday calendar, with unfamiliar holidays popping up unexpectedly like snow days on my calendar.

But it has surprised me how deeply I've felt the loss of this September long weekend and the symbolism it harbored: the bittersweet end of lazy summer days, the inchoate nip of autumn air at the cheek, the recognition of the passage of a year three-quarters well lived and the anticipation of the upcoming holidays.