One aspect of Hurricane Irma was its causing a drop in temperature which gave a brief preview of Fall.

Irma’s remnants clicked on my heat pump in the middle of the night, the apartment having reached a decided chill. I know “hot dust” doesn’t sound very reassuring, but with the onset of a cold night, the smelling of hot dust in the heating system is almost as reassuring as a mother’s exhaled warm breath over her infant child.

I was suddenly struck with a number of seasonal “heat firsts,” and will do my best to relate them to you, beginning with dressing: the comforting feel of a long-sleeve shirt versus the bare elbow sensations of Summer. But then there is that “restricted” feeling noticed in lower arms and lower legs, as they once-again become covered with cloth.

A week before Hurricane Irma’s chill, I had a man-made preview of cold weather by accidentally turning the thermostat of my household AC down too far before to bed. I woke to “January” around 2 a.m. Just that brief, wee- hour taste of cold weather put me in the mood for heat, even though the outside temperature had approached 90 degrees that day, almost as if some age-related forgetfulness had caused me to forget that fact.

My neck- of- the- woods (actually, suburban) experienced its first frost a few days before this writing. That morning, when getting into my car, I steadied myself by placing my hand upon the edge of my car’s roof (the kind of thing an arthritic person with “one-hip-replaced-and-one-to-go” does).

The roof felt rough and cold, but soon became extremely smooth as the heat from my fingers melted the ice.

Just as I had brought on Winter with my household AC one night, on another morning (one of those 45 degree Low, 75 degree High days), I had skipped this Winter, next Spring and proceeded all the way into the Summer of 2018 by too much layering of my clothes to begin the day.

Always hot natured, my excessive amount of clothes had brought out that extra heat which always lurks within me!

Of course, another aspect of fall is the putting away of the summer cotton cap, to be replaced by the cap of wool (later in Winter by my Ushanka), and my “sock horse” (“My kingdom for a sock horse”) now helps me put on thicker, warmer socks. And speaking of socks, feet, and other body parts (don’t worry, nothing lewd) in the middle of Winter, clothing’s sweaty heat dries out to become comforting.

Actually, the most comforting heat of my life (besides that of the womb) consisted of a pad, a chord, and a switch: the heating pad which assuaged those most horrible earaches of my childhood.

Then there is that “blanketed” feeling in bed on a Winter night. It’s as if the blanket you’re under is your skin, and if your turning in bed peels back just the smallest centimeter of it between those moments the heat comes on, something feeling like a cold “burn” of the third degree results.

The area beneath that blanket becomes the known world of warmth, from which one doesn’t want to venture too far and fall off. It could also be referred to as: “All snuggled up with myself” (such phrase noting both warmth and solitude).

My car’s add-coolant light came on the other day; and when I opened the hood, the super-hot-water-and-metal smell brought a “warm” memory of radiator steam heat in a flashback of the college kind. This was when I was at Appalachian and lived off-campus in a rented room in a house on Green Street owned by a Mrs. Green (the “room within Mrs. Green’s house on Green Street” now brings Russian Matryoshka Dolls to mind).

Seeking the aid of Sir Isaac Newton in closing out this week’s column, I’ll say: “What goes up, must come down!” (And for additional help from Jerry Reed:  “When you’re hot, you’re hot; and when you’re not, you’re not”).