The summer heat wave reminds me of my journeys to hotter places.
I remember travelling the length of beautiful Vietnam, the silk of my Au Dai like a gentle breeze against my flesh, the sharp smell of eucalyptus oil on my temples and aching muscles.
I remember passing through the Three Furnaces of China on a crowded river boat on the Yangtze, drinking cup after cup of hot tea from the omnipresent red thermos, and glorying in the privacy under the cold showers piped up from the river below.
And I remember settling in to a beautiful log house with a sweet man in Georgia for a Southern Summer romance.
They are all body memories, slipping over my lethargic limbs like honey, taking advantage of the mental fragmentation caused by this amazing heat. These are memories of incredible beauty, and resilience, of love and pleasure, of the bone weariness of travellers, and the fantastic weight of history, of exotic flavours in my mouth, and strong hands on my skin.
"Those lazy crazy hazy days of summer..."
I'm a part of the water cycle again... sweat pouring off, clean, cold, water pouring in. The little pink office where I am due during the hottest part of the day is an oven, and we are all baking there together.
And I love it.
My skin has turned brown, my feet are bare and leathery against the thirsty soil. I'm delighting in fresh food, and dappled garden light, in warm thundershowers, and all that goes with it. With just the screens on the patio door, it is as if I am sleeping under the stars. I think I will go do that now.
Sweet Dreams Mister Sun, see you tomorrow!
