Suddenly a couple of weeks ago, in a single evening, the rainy season was behind us and October became fall.
It’s one of the always-surprising phenomena of these Jalisco highlands: the rainy season blooms and booms along, merrily soaking mountainsides into great green pyramids, grander than any the ancient Nahua gods were promised, pouring falls of water down sheer chutes of stone; then suddenly … the texture of the air has changed without warning, the colors up on the green ridges abruptly lighten, pulling yellows, beiges and browns out of nowhere. The very blue of the sky turns a less transparent, bluer, duskier side to us. It’s fall.
The wild hay of the summits surrounding the city and Lake Chapala has already paled and begun to topple with the newly arrived fall breezes. Odors have changed. The stride of country folk has become a bit tighter, a bit brisker. A few children already have the sniffles, and at night the burros and the cattle wander shorter distances from home.
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