How to perceive the turning of the seasons. ~The difference between an 11-year-old who takes it for granted and a 53-year-old who is impressed.~

#20250922-585

Monday, September 22, 2025
For the past few days, I have been able to get by without turning on the air conditioning.
With all the windows in the house wide open and the doors to every room left ajar to let the breeze flow through, I don't even break a sweat.
Occasionally, depending on the strength and direction of the wind, a door will slam shut with a loud noise, which startles me, but otherwise, it is comfortable. The lace curtains swaying gently look like waves, and I find myself following their movement with my eyes.

I can no longer hear the cicadas.
The sky has somehow become higher, and small clouds are lined up; I find myself searching for their names, wondering if they are "mackerel clouds" or "scale clouds."
Perhaps because the humidity is low, sounds carry well. The sound of airplanes flying overhead reaches me clearly.
Even though there shouldn't be any fields in this residential area, if I take a deep breath, I can faintly smell smoke. Having lived in a small town in the mountains when I was a child, the scene of burning piles of rice husks in harvested fields comes to mind.
Why do I smell this when I feel the signs of autumn?

This summer, the temperature rose early, and the intense, sweltering heat continued.
There wasn't a single day, day or night, when I could sleep without the air conditioning on, and it ran all day long.
A parasol was essential when going out.
I wore sleeveless dresses so often they felt like a uniform.
Somewhere in my heart, I was bracing myself for the lingering summer heat to be severe and long-lasting.
And yet, for the past few days, I have felt "autumn".

Having lived for 53 years in Japan, a country with four seasons, I know full well that the seasons turn.
Even so, I am bewildered by the refreshing breeze from the window and find myself wondering where that intense heat has gone.
The seasons turn without fail.
It is closer to admiration than relief; despite experiencing it constantly, I am surprised by the changing air, the blooming flowers, and the appearance of the sky.

"It really does turn into autumn, doesn't it?"

As I muttered this, feeling my guard let down by the comfortable temperature, Noko (my daughter, 6th grade) immediately chimed in.

"Of course it does!"

I am taken aback that Noko, with only 11 years of life, accepts the changing of the seasons as a matter of course.
Perhaps she has already accepted it without me having to explain the cycle of the four seasons patiently.
I, who have repeated this 53 times, am more surprised than Noko, who has only seen it 11 times.
This difference is interesting and funny.
When something is repeated too much, does a person move from "habit" to the realm of "admiration"?

No, but because the heat was so harsh, I find myself wishing that the comfortable "autumn" would last at least a little longer this year.
Autumn, autumn, autumn.
Neither too hot nor too cold, just right for both being active and spending time quietly.
I feel excited, wondering what to do—should I do this, or that?
I want to ride my road bike, which I haven't ridden in a while. The nights are long, the nights are long. It would be nice to immerse myself in reading. Is the "Used Book Festival" in Jimbocho coming up soon? I have a lot of fabric that I've cut and left sitting there. I want to get back to using my sewing machine too.
Oh, and one more thing.
This autumn, I want to go for a walk somewhere—a place a little far away where I can tread on fallen leaves and enjoy the scent of the earth rising from under my feet.