The morning is dark and damp. You can feel the moisture in the air. The temperature is in the low 70’s. Today’s weather report says rain, but I am skeptical about the forecast. We don’t get rain. We get menacing clouds.

When I was a kid, rain in the summer mostly halted outside fun. The park and the pool were closed. I could ride my bike but only if the rain wasn’t heavy. Spitting rain was fine. I’d get wet but not drenched. Sometimes I rode to the library. I’d sit at the wooden tables and browse books. I’d stay a while. If we had a summer storm, I’d stay home, sequester myself in my bedroom and read. I always had books.

Yesterday I planted the flowers I had bought to replace the ones stolen from their pots, and I added two smaller pots filled with lavender. As I was planting the second pot, I heard a noise in the yard. I looked down off the deck and saw Nala playing with the flowers I had just potted. I had finally caught the thief in action. I’m going to try to keep her out of the pots. I have some wire which I’ll twist into a cover for the flowers and hope it works, but she is quite adept at thievery.

I have been watching my favorite science fictions movies, the black and white ones from the 50’s. Now it is The Giant Behemoth, a redundant title or maybe one just for emphasis. The beast is plying English waters. It burns victims with radiation and reduces them to ashes. Of course it does.

Today is dump day. I am reminded of my father who loved going to the dump. In the old days the dumps were tall heaps of trash with screeching seagulls circling. When I was home for the weekend from college, my father always invited me to go with him or he invited my friends who had come down for the weekend. I told them it was a privilege to be asked so they always went with him. My father loved it.

I am alive and somewhat well. The last couple of days had me imagining I was crawling across the sands of the Sahara, my clothes frayed and my arm outstretched in supplication hoping for water. On Saturday, I bought the rest of the plants needed to replace the ones stolen by the plant marauder, Nala. No one from Agway was outside in the plant area. They were the smart people. I wandered around the aisles pushing my cart and looking for lavender and three annuals. I got dizzy from the heat and went inside for a while. After I had finished, I drove home and collapsed in the AC.

On Saturday night I didn’t asleep a wink. I’d turn out the light and hope for the best, but wishin’ and hopin’ didn’t work so I’d turn the light back on and read some more until I tried again. The dogs slept through it all and looked a bit annoyed at the light going on and off. Finally, at 5:30, I gave up the ghost and went down stairs. I was glad I did. The morning was lovely and even felt coolish. I stayed outside and read the paper, coffee in hand. I didn’t write Coffee because my brain refused to cooperator. My world was hazy from the heat and words escaped me.

Yesterday too was hellish. I went to the concert which started at 5:30. Our seats were in the sun. It was back to the Sahara but with a soundtrack. I did wear a hat which prevented drops of sweat from rolling down my cheeks while the visor kept the sun at bay so I could read my music. Regardless, it was awful. My hair got soaked, and I was the poster child for an un-lady-like appearance, Victorian age appearance. I imagined a fan and someone to fan me. We played for over an hour after which I ran to the car and turned up the AC as high as it could go. I was a mess.

Last night I turned out the light at 12:30 and slept until nearly 10:30 which brings me to now. The house is wonderfully cool. Outside is 89° but with the humidity it feels like 101° according to My Google. The welcomed breeze from the south is strong. Everything is blowing. The leaves are jumping round. The branches are swaying propelled by those leaves. I’m thinking of sitting under the umbrella and planting the pots of flowers I bought but that just might be a crazy idea born from hyperthermia.

Okay, I just wrote 400 and 52 words, complaining words about the heat. Next thing you know I’ll be asking people, “Is it hot enough for you?” I have become cliché.