Dissociated Thoughts

A Summer Day in Texas

It's a typical Texas summer day. The overwhelming heat has wilted the leaves on the lantana and scorched the bare earth. The sand burns the bottoms of my bare feet as I walk outside to check on my flowers and trees. The heat presses down on me, even in the shade. I pant for lack of air cool enough to breathe and my arms glisten with the formation of sweat after only a few minutes outside. My dog is at my side, faithful as ever, even though the thickness of his fur is surely making things even harder on him. There are no birds or little mammals out right now. They're probably hiding in their burrows or in the deep shade of the woods to escape at least some of this heat wave. I read the thermometer after I woke this morning; at 8 a.m. it was already almost 95 degrees Fahrenheit. I must be getting old because I remember days like this in my youth, days where this inescapable heat didn't affect me the way it does now. Memories of a young me popping the tar that bubbled up from the road in front of my childhood home with my bare toes. I know I couldn't do that now. The heat is too much for me. It steals my breath and energy, and it presses down on me like an invisible wet blanket. I should be in the house, basking in the cool air of the A/C. Instead, I am outside making sure this horrendous heat isn't sapping the life from the plants I so lovingly planted and care for. And the dog remains beside me, too overheated for his usual antics. I should probably hurry up out here and get back inside. Back to the coolness of the house and a soft place for the dog to rest. The forecast is for triple digit heat today after all. And it's not even July yet. It's going to be one Hell of a summer.