It’s
a full hour before the robins will bribe the sun with their quickest song. The
sky remains as still as solid stone and colored Wedgwood blue. My back door is
open, and I’ve flung open the windows like clams. Near the door and two windows,
floor fans whir with firm insistence.
I’m
sitting on my sofa under wan light, allowing the mountain air to rush in and
lay cool hands on me. I close my eyes and think of the snowcapped peaks west of
me, and of the monkey flowers I found nodding along the bounce-and-run Arrastra
Creek on my last mountain drive.
I’ve
never been fond of summer’s heat, and this hour before sunrise is entirely
mine. I have this hour, and perhaps two more, to draw in cool air so I may face
another scorching day. The cool air has a weight I desire.
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