It's rather boring, isn't it, to speak of the weather, of the relentless heat, the grass going dormant and crisping as if the sun was trying to achieve that nutty, toasted grass flavor? Yes, but I can't help it. Can't change it, so I'm doomed to talk about the blasting, shimmering oven just outside my door. Even the pool is warm. Swimming laps is just slightly more refreshing than jogging. I drive around, and the car air conditioner competes with the ever-warming dashboard for control of the car's temperature.
The hot air washes the colors out of the grass, flowers, sky, and drifts, barely moving, in the steely light. No wind.
I was hoping for a thunderstorm tonight, a cicada-silencing, child-frightening, wild tumble of leaf rip and water sheet. But the trees are motionless. A sedentary cloud above. Dominic is watching "The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951)" and the earth is still. Still hot.
2 comments:
As someone who loves talking about the weather and always has, I think your descriptions of the heat are beautiful and spot-on, Naomi! Lovely! xo
I know your weather talk and love it! Se snow poems, especially. But you must tell me of your move, where you will be and what you will be doing! Will we be closer to each other?
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