Floridians, a kind of scrappy bunch, are carrying pails of water beneath their pits. There’s no telling if the water is from the heavy, frequent summer rains that dot the landscape, or if it’s from the pits of Floridians suffering from the unyielding summer humidity.

Floridians resemble beggars in late September. For four months, they must occasionally swipe their left brow from a heavy sweat. Mere moments pass, then the right one is cleared — much like the cadence of a car’s windshield wiper on delay.

On or about September 20th, the Floridian wearily turns his eye to the northern and western sky. He sees something amazing! Rare! It’s a blue line stretching from horizon to horizon at a distance. He looks more closely: there are triangles on the edge of the blue line pointed directly at him. Where has he seen that thing of beauty before?

The Blue Triangles Cometh

A type of Floridian, the Pensacolian, knows what is coming. He can taste it. It’s like the finest cut of rib eye served up with a glass of red wine at an ungodly expensive restaurant. For dessert, it’s a decadent slice of tiramisu. An era of good feeling is soon to arrive! Two other types of Floridians, the Tallahasseean and the Jacksonvillian can savor it, too. They know. Oh it’s going to taste - and feel - so, so good.

The Red Half-Circles Taketh

Other types of Floridians, the Tampans, Orlandoans, and Miamian watch in anticipation. They, too, want the steak. (Medium rare, please), the Chateau Latife Rothschild wine, the tiramisu.

The Tampan, the Orlandoan, the Miamian - they notice something. The blue line is fading; it’s more of transparent blue. The triangles no longer look like triangles. Oh, oh, oh no! They’re turning into half-rounded circles. And, what of the transparent blue line? It’s turning a hue of — yellow? Orange? They look at each other in horror: it’s red! A warm front!

The Pensacolian, the Tallahassean, the Jacksonvillian: they turn their eyes to the southern sky — to toast the Tampan, the Orlandoan, the Miamian. But the Tampan, the Orlandoan, the Miamian are in utter despair. The sweat is pouring down their face. The heat and humidity, unrelenting. They’ll have to settle for the round and the store-bought ice cream, which is melting in the heat.