At five in the morning, the game begins. I open all windows and drag box fans and oscillating fans to some of the open windows, placing the fans so cooler air is drawn in and warm air is forced out.
Soon, my entire house hums and whirs.
Papers on counters and tabletops gently flutter and fluff themselves like new birds in a nest.
Walking amid all the flowing air feels like walking right through a living thing. Streams of cool air yield and part as I ghost from room to room. The moving air probes at my skin, maybe tasting me.
Yesterday was brutally hot: 102° according to the local newspaper. The heat invaded daytime shade and persisted long into the star-stirred darkness. Last night, I slept on the sofa with nothing covering me. I did not dream and I woke often. My 20 pounds of housecat circulated around me for most of the night. Three times he walked across my back.
This morning, after my coffee brewed, I poured a cup and then stood in front of a box fan, wearing nothing but a pair of silky shorts. As I drank from my cup, the fan wavered chill and delicious shawls of cool air all around me.
On a morning like this, at my age, this is more satisfying than sex.