The first heat of summer has begun to slowly savage our valley. The tall, green stems of brome grass and crested wheat have gradually bleached to straw and stiffened. Afternoon heatwaves warp and distend cars crossing the short stretch of gravel road I can see along the pine and juniper hills above my house. Dust from their passing lifts only a little before ghosting off through the trees.
Though a little rain came late last night, the heat persisted. Not hot like an empty desert in Nevada, but hot enough for those of us who crossed big rivers and chill mountain streams to get here.
I have never really enjoyed the heat. My face turns red if I am working in elevated temperatures. My clothes feel hot and leaden.
Last night, long after the last light of day grasped at the far side of the Rocky Mountains and then fell into darkness, that girl opened windows throughout our house. Still, our house did not cool until early this morning. I slept poorly and dreamed I fell from a ladder while repairing a luminaire secured high against a vaulted ceiling.
I begin this day in utter stillness, tired, having just risen from a bad dream.