(133) We're Not in Kansas

It is so quiet here today. The noise of the weekend Holiday is over and the stillness of the heat has set in. The temperature keeps edging toward the century mark and it is only just now noon. I imaging one of those western movies where the cowboy is out in the sage and desert west. He’s hot and his horse has just run off to find water as he struggles to find shade himself. Lucky for us we have the benefit of air conditioning and our fans. We haven’t ventured outside today, not even to take our walkabout. I haven’t even gone out to the screened in porch to listen if GeorgeNGracie are moving about. I suspect they are not, I assume they are waiting for the heat to subside some so they can venture out to find food for their family. Beeker barely moves. He content to lay low, knowing that at some point we will go out and he will take the heat with stoicism. He’s conserving his energy.

The silence is further punctuated by the ping of my phone turning off, the fan and air conditioner coming to a halt. I hear a generator in the distance, humming now as it pushes energy forward. It’s eerie how loss of power can make a hot summer day seem even hotter. Nothing but the trees now stir. We venture out, my dog and me, to get the mail, I say. The heat, more than the humidity, meet us as soon as we step outside. It takes a moment to catch my breath, and I feel the heat slow my breathing. I love the feel of its intensity on my arms. Beeker runs off on his usual sprint to check what needs checking, but returns shortly when he exhausts more quickly than usual. We walk side by side quietly to the mailbox, no neighbors are out, most at work and others keeping haven inside. The birds are quiet but the locusts have begun to sing. Do you think they believe night has fallen with the silence? It’s the kind of summer day when pop up thunderstorms come without warning. When they boil up we say. I feel like Dorothy’s Aunt Em, looking out on the grey sky waiting for the storm to come. Even Beeker plays the part of Toto, silently at my side, waiting for the next motion to stir his attention, waiting, waiting. We aren’t in Kansas but we know the feeling.