There’s something remarkably relaxing and quiet about a cool evening after a hot day.
It’s the kind of night where you go for a drive by the lake (or ocean, or river) with all the windows down so the cool breeze fills the car and touches every accessible area of skin. The only sound at home is the hum of a fan and the distant twittering of a couple of birds and a cricket outside the open windows.
My cat is sprawling on the ottoman, apparently content to doze nearby (and in danger of pushing my laptop to the floor with every shift and stretch). At the moment, things don’t seem so bad. There is no swine flu, politics, earthquakes, economy, or any other stress in my little corner of the cool evening.
I appreciate these moments when the simple things can be enjoyed: a cool breeze, my cat’s foot resting on my hand as he cleans his face, a bit of friendly conversation from neighbors drifting by.
Heat can be tiring even when you’re not out in it. Sitting home in a closed house can get stale, and watching the thermostat slowly rise is no fun when you have to close the blinds lest the sun make it worse.
But when things cool down and slow down in the evening, it’s like everything takes a rest. It’s a strange natural phenomenon, sort of like the silence after the first deep snowfall of winter.
It also gives new meaning to the verse where Adam and Eve “heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day” (Genesis 3:8). How pleasant it must have been to regularly visit with God in the cool evening. (That particular verse is after the fall and describes how they hid, but it implies that this was a regular routine.)
So I’m off now to wallow in this pleasant lassitude and let tomorrow worry about itself. 