Perhaps my favorite track from the Frank Sinatra / Duke Ellington album is the song Indian Summer by Victor Herbert and Al Dubin. (It’s got to be either that or All I Need Is The Girl. The rest of that album is arguably a little lack-lustre.)

One definition of the term Indian summer is here: “A period of mild, sunny weather occurring in late autumn, usually following a seasonable cold spell.”

In common usage (at least in my experience) the term has been used for pretty much any notably warm weather after September.

This past weekend in New York City (October 5th through the 8th), we had temperatures in the mid-eighties, Fahrenheit, with blazing sunshine. Other parts of the U.S.A. also had unusually hot weather, so I’m told.

In the past, I often heard the term Indian summer used to describe this kind of event (even though early October hardly qualifies as late autumn, I know). This year, however, most people I chatted to at the dog run or thereabouts only spoke woefully of how disturbing and strange this weather was, and made the now inevitable connection to “global warming.”

It’s a pity, isn’t it? What was once looked on as a pure blessing — a welcome reminder of summer before Old Man Winter would come bearing down with his coat of sleet, ice and snow — is now seen by so many people only as a portent of doom. It is a measure of how the theme of global warming has come to dominate the general consciousness. It is the prism through which all weather events are viewed, especially in the mainstream media, and, increasingly, in the minds of the general population.

Needless to say, I think it’s a bunch of hogwash, and it’s going to have unbelievable consequences before it all plays out.

I was happy, this past weekend, to be able to take the subway out to the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn. Just me and the missus and the dog (dogs are allowed on the beach only between October 1st and May1st), enjoying what was equivalent to a perfect summer day without the usual unmanageable crowds. We walked all the way up to Coney Island and back, and soaked up the sun with other brave souls. The global-warming-phobic types were presumably hiding in their basements, watching “An Inconvenient Truth” and sobbing.

It is, indeed, a pity.

Below (or click here to go directly to YouTube) is the great saxophonist Coleman Hawkins, in 1958, performing Indian Summer.

Summer, you old Indian Summer
You’re the tear that comes after June-time’s laughter
You see so many dreams that don’t come true
Dreams we fashioned when Summertime was new

You are here to watch over
Some heart that is broken by a word that somebody left unspoken
You’re the ghost of a romance in June going astray
Fading too soon, that’s why I say
“Farewell to you, Indian Summer”

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