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Greetings from the bell jar... through which no rains must pass. I'm a summer person... I live for bare feet, t-shirts, a house open to the weather, music on the front porch, driving with the windows down and eventually, the ocean. Repetitive 100 degree days with no blessing from the skies is wearing thin, though. I keep remembering an excellent series of books by Stephen R. Donaldson that illustrated the atmosphere in a bizarre and believeable way... and no Hobbits, anywhere. It ain't that pretty. The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeleiver is a Tolkein-esque double trilogy a contemporary man stricken with leprosy, to the horror of his family and all around him. The story has him sucked into another world that is earth, so imbalanced that the seasons pass in a matter of days. And there are nasty adversaries, as well. The bit about the "Sunbane" fits oh, too well... Spring rips into being at such speed that emerging life screams through its cycle painfully, to be followed by the scorching barrenness of a turbocharged summer. That's the "Sunbane" part. Basically, the forecast for the past week or so. Baked earth. The lake I waterskied on feet below normal... meadows growing from where I'd fished and floated. We musta done a bad, bad thing. Maybe I should reread Dune instead. Here, payback for no air conditioning came in the form of two of the 50+ year-old fans giving it up over the past two days. Aye, ye windmakers of the metal vortex grilles, ye've served well. Damn. After spending the morning stripped to the waist, bathed in sweat while pulling weeds from one of the gardens, Slick Willie stopped by to offer some G&T's (at noon!), and tell me about the truck he'd dropped off at home. Sundazed and lit before two... quite an accomplishment. But I had to get fans. And find a storm. Mission accomplished... though I needed to drive an hour to find it. After Miss Jane's tantrum yesterday, she seemed together enough to ride along. At least the air felt alive again, with the addition of ozone from the lightning. But the hills around home split the storm like a blade, and not a drop fell. But y'know? Whatever. There's a '67 F-100 outside the window. I'm ready to work, despite the heat. 'Cause it won't last forever. |
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