The end of spring


She returned to the bedroom in the darkness and said, There’s a big electrical storm.  But she spoke in Spanish. It was about 3 a.m.

She had looked out the bathroom window. I could see nothing because the bedroom drapes were shut, but I heard thunder.

Shortly after, it began to rain.  With spirit.  And the wind blew.

Not last night, but the night before.

Around 9 a.m. yesterday, I was walking around the neighborhood plaza. Stones and soil littered the street, stuff that had sat in peace for months against a curb during the dry time until whacked by that storm.

A metal frame covered by a blue plastic tarp, where someone recently had sold beer or tacos or trinkets, had blown over.

And it was cool. One downside to our spring is that it gets too warm on the mountaintop. It’s most noticeable in late afternoon and early evening.

Back at the Hacienda, walking through the downstairs terraza, I smelled dirt.  It was wet roof tile, formed out of clay, a distinctive smell of dampness.

That afternoon, yesterday, it rained again, gently and lasting longer. The dry grass rejoiced, as did every other speck of plant life within our property walls.

Is this the start of the rainy season? It could be bogus because such things happen, but it might also be true. If so, our whole world changes overnight from death and dust to lively green and damp.

And there will be no more unpleasantly warm afternoons. It will stay cool till next springtime. And it will be very sweet. Change is good.

* * * *

(Note: Spring is the worst season here. Ain’t that something?)

13 thoughts on “The end of spring”

  1. The number one reason I moved to Michoacan was to escape the Florida heat. Cool is really cool. Spring gives us just a small reminder of why we escaped the heat in the first place.

    We can’t wait for the rainy season to start and we can’t wait for the rainy season to end. Human nature.


    1. We can’t wait for the rainy season to start and we can’t wait for the rainy season to end.

      Boy, ain’t that so! By September I’m so sick of rain that I could scream.

      But not right now.


  2. We had a bombazo of a storm yesterday evening; rain, some wind and lots of hail. We got outside in time to save the basil plants. Haven’t checked the sugar snap peas yet.

    Nevertheless, it was welcome.

    Don Cuevas


  3. Welcoming the rain seems to be universal in Mexico. As if we had all been transformed into corn farmers in Iowa. But, I suspect the roots are joined. Even on the beach, we look forward to the rain — to paradoxically reduce the humidity for a moment.

    And, like you, I enjoy the perfume of petrichor.


  4. Our beautiful Spring weather that lasted about a month, has turned. It has been rainy and cool all week. Petrichor is no longer…

    If you can remember that far, it is Memorial day weekend here and that means BBQ’s–tasty, smoked briskets, ribs and all the fixings. People will get around the weather, unfortunately enjoying the outdoors will not happen. I hope this is not a sign of what the summer holds, or I might scream.


    1. Andean: If you knew the meaning of petrichor, you’re a better person than I am. Perhaps you’re a better person even if you didn’t know petrichor and had to look it up like I did.

      Memorial Day, eh? Most of those Gringo holidays have passed out of the range of my radar. I will take some brisket, however.

      And I pray that summer will not make you scream. I hope it makes you sigh.


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