105 Degrees - A Snippet

It's a scorching of the skin, a burning in the eyeballs, a thick stillness of the air.

It's waves of heat rising from the pavement and mirages appearing half a block down the road.

It's tank tops and sandals and sweat.  It's light skirts and flimsy dresses and sweat.

It's clouds teasing me, hovering over the mountains, white and wispy and useless if for rain or shade.

It's the irrigation running three times a day, and still the roses wilt.

It's waking up early to walk on Christina-Taylor's path and realizing that 7 is not early enough.

It's 105 degrees and it's hot.