Heat surrounds me
like an unwanted blanket.
I'm sitting in my shorts
nothimg else, on the porch.
Hints of a soft breeze does not help,
they are waves of hot air,
not at all pleasent.
Tickling beads of precipatation
form on my back, chest and armpits.
In the shade of my enclosure,
the thermometer reads...100 derees.
I am reading a good book by Ken Follet,
800 pages in length. (I am on
page 262)
In the valley of the sun (Phoenix),
it's 118.
Just knowing that makes
me feel cooler instantly.
Summer in Arizona is not
for the faint-of-heart.
I come inside to towel off and get a cold drink.
It is 75 degrees in the living room.
I head for the recliner, get comfy
and take my afternoon nap.