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The Spirit of Summer

This year, June in the Southwest is living up to its reputation of monotonous, cloudless skies and fierce Dry Heat. Normally I would be miserable during weather like this, and look forward to the monsoons later in the summer. But not this year; winter really did cure me of piteous whining about dry heat.

All it takes to enjoy an afternoon like today is a small gift of shade, sacred Sombra. The breeze does the rest. 'Wind' and 'spirit' (breath) have quite a history together, which a good dictionary or Wikipedia can tell you about.

I've tried to shelter the Wind from its many assailants and detractors. If my eloquence failed, then seek your own inspiration in a chair, outdoors. The wind coats and cools every inch of your skin, like a mountain stream does to a rock in its middle.   

Remember when you were a kid and trying to exact revenge on a sibling or playmate; Mother would shake her finger at you and say, "Two wrongs don't make a right." But in fact, they sometimes do. A cold, snowy, and long winter make this kind of summer heat bearable, if not enjoyable. The "negative" quality of wind becomes a positive in the summer heat.

Normally my outdoors-day is over by 11 in the morning. But now I am discovering outdoor-hours unknown to me in the winter. Step outdoors in deep-dusk and feel how cool it is; you feel foolish for sleeping indoors. You leave the door open at night. To heck with worrying about the bogeyman.

In mid-afternoon I fill plastic tubs with water. Normally cold water is a hateful substance. But on days like this, I splash my dogs' heads with water. The silly creatures shake it off. But then they start to enjoy the cooling.

You can actually enjoy a trip to the grocery story for some cool snacks or drinks right in the middle of one of these torrid afternoons. Just dunk your clothes and feet in water and jump on a bicycle, while wearing impractical and non-athletic footwear, such as flip-flops. You won't pedal hard. The wheels of bicycle rotate slowly; just fast enough to turn you into a human swamp cooler.

Think cool, lazy thoughts: slow bike wheels; slow blades of a ceiling fan in the days before air conditioning; slow windmill blades in the hot prairie wind. The breeze pushes on you, and then lets up. In some long-gone era, you would have seen it as the rhythmic respiration -- the hot breath -- of some distant earth-beast.

Back in the chair you go. Why must something fast happen in order to be entertained? Nothing exciting need transpire. Excitement is too hot; contentment is cool.

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