Today, fittingly, may be the last hot day of the year. As I write, it’s Monday, Sept. 21 — the last day of summer (that’s the fitting part) — and the temperature is 85. It’s forecast to hit 92 by day’s end. Tomorrow, however, the temperature will barely break 80 and it may not top 70 for the rest of the week. Overnight lows may dip into the upper 40s:

It’s what we hikers have been waiting for since April. 

And yet, I’m a tad melancholic.

To be sure, I’m at the forefront of those who can’t wait for fleece hiking, to at least start a hike wearing a light long sleeve and exhaling a puff or two of visible breath. Saturday at Lake Higgins in Greensboro I spotted my first legitimate hint of fall color, and this week’s cool temps will likely accelerate the show. I’m looking forward to hills to build body heat. I’m looking forward to seeing through a thinning understory for insights deeper into the woods. I’m looking forward to that lone cricket frog chirping the  transition to winter. 

I also know I will miss the heat.

And no, there’s no guarantee we won’t have another hot day or two. But history suggests we won’t. Last October, for instance, the temperature barely topped 80 twice where I am. The average daytime high was below 70, the overnight low 45, and the temperature dipped as low as 30. Another hot day? Not likely.

I’ve thought about this seasonal schizophrenia the past few years, this reluctance to part entirely with summer. Sweat, flying-biting-bugs, and dehydration aside, it’s still difficult to part with the season that during our formative years equated to freedom. Freedom to swap the classroom for the joys of summer: exploring the woods at the end of your block, the rope swing that ends in a cooling plunge, lying in a bed of grass and watching the clouds swim by. Not the summer most of us experience as adults, but maybe a summer we, on the cusp of 60-degree days, wish we had? 

This isn’t to dwell on lost opportunities. Rather to try and explain why we might have  the slightest wistfulness over the end of summer.

A short-lived wistfulness, I’m guessing. Have you seen the weekend forecast?