On a hot day in Texas

 

It's a hundred degrees out on the patio and it's the fifteen of October. The constant heat is stressful. I also know cold, but when it's cold, you put on a hoodie and hunker down with a warm drink. Nobody hunkers down in the air-conditioning, which is the only thing that stands between you and complete misery. To calm my nerves I make a huge mug of sun tea--letting mother nature do the cooking. In less than an hour I can pour this over a bunch of ice and calm my parched and aching throat. Summer last about six months in central Texas where the weather is very predictable: 95 during the day, 75 at night, with a variation of + five degrees. It rains sporadically in a chaotic sort of way, which just makes the constant heat more unbearable. "You don't have to shovel heat," they say. Well, maybe that is not a benefit. I like it when the weather changes from time to time. Frost falls like dew on a tired meadow. The changing seasons are about rest, sleep, and renewal, none of which can happen if sweat runs down your back as you hide in a small sliver of shade. I pour my tea over a mountain of ice, hoping to alleviate my sweaty, aching brow that dreams of a cool breeze, of putting on a hoodie, of looking for my gloves and hat. The heat hangs heavy in the air, the sun feels like hot lead, and the white light of summer is implacable. You burn your hand on the steering wheel of your car, your sunglasses slide down your nose, your clothes stick to you, and you wonder if your deodorant is still working. Snow flakes and icy air are but unrealized dreams.