Summer Heat

It gets hot in the sum­mer. For many, I know, ele­vat­ed ther­mome­ter read­ings are a big part of the charm of this sea­son, but heat does noth­ing for me oth­er than cause me to per­spire (a sar­to­ri­al­ly-detri­men­tal func­tion I ordi­nar­i­ly avoid). I am try­ing hard to live a bicy­cling life this sum­mer in the city that will even­tu­al­ly become my full-time home. I ped­al two miles every morn­ing up a long steep hill to get to work, and at five o’clock each after­noon I come sail­ing down the hill at thir­ty miles per hour to get home. A heat index of 102ºF doesn’t make any of this any easier.

Then, when my wife and I are thor­ough­ly wilt­ed after a long day, the long day­light hours make it extreme­ly dif­fi­cult to con­vince minor chil­dren to acknowl­edge bed­time. And after hours of sto­ries and sips of water and extra trips to the bath­room and more sips of water and run­ning to the win­dow to watch the motor­cy­cles go by, after end­less admo­ni­tions to just lie down and go to sleep, when the sky is black and the sheets on all three beds are tan­gled and damp and lit­tle bod­ies are final­ly still, we lie there in the dark, exhaust­ed, beat­en once again by the sti­fling still­ness of the July night. Too worn out to get back up and do the dish­es, we stretch out and roll over, and smell the sweet smell of sweaty children’s tou­sled hair.

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