Happy in Heat

I feel summer coming on, ready to erupt into a fiery dance around me, taunting me and laughing as I struggle to cast off the waves of oppressive heat. Summer's forward guard has been gentle thus far, but I feel it's ready to spring into action, baking the ground beneath my feet and toasting the air I breathe.

There are signals, signs, guideposts that point out the inevitable inferno that's coming, ready to tell anyone who will take the time to watch and listen. Maybe it's just that I've seen it before. I know it's on its way. It's ready to seek vengeance for being kept at bay for months on end. It will scream and shriek and shake its razor-sharp teeth at us and will motion us to come closer to feel the cool water. But, then, it will scald us with that wretched spray of sulfurous mist that escapes from faucets that are too far gone to even hope for a cool flow again.

Madmen and impoverished slaves settled in this climate. No one else would have elected to have lived here before the advent of artificial comfort. And the rest of us who followed are evidence that there are those among the living whose good sense has dried up in the sweltering heat.

Fortunately for me, I have frequent flyer miles and an air conditioned car. For me, the summer will be tolerable, at a minimum. I won't melt, I won't drown in my own sweat. If they can live in Tucson and Phoenix, we're OK here. We're more than OK. We're happy in heat. And we can always migrate.