Drowning, Not Living.

My neighbor popped across the street to re-introduce himself after a summer spent in Minnesota (poor bugger) and he was all teeth and happiness under the drizzle. Don't be afraid of the weather he said, reminding me of rugby coaches at the Hogwarts of my misspent childhood. His enthusiasm was not infectious. I liked the greenery of New England this past summer, the shadows cast by big deciduous trees, thick hedgerows, long slow descents into dusk and darkness. Great stuff, but winter is unbearable, fog and frost dripping off cold and leafless limbs.

I am happy under bright sunshine, hard shadows, heat haze on the turquoise waters, sweat running down my arms, dripping over my eyebrows, I love the lubrication of heat, life lived in primary colors.

In Oregon they expect this misery, in San Diego they pray for it as they are about to die of dehydration.

In the Keys I loathe this endless endless heavy cold rain. Photographs on Duval? I wish. My one night off and Cheyenne and I are trapped at home with tea and a crappy book. Bugger this.

 

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