rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Still Hot, Still

It has been a day like those days when kites wouldn't fly, and the eucalyptus branches would unexpectedly snap from the heat. Before we got a television, my early summers were all sunburn and peeling skin, and adobe dust clinging to the knees of my Levis. The brown hills were no longer good for sliding, the grasses having dried and gone to seed, filling our socks with foxtails and nettles. We would sit on the porch of the church next to the grocery store, trying to finish Popsicles before they melted and ran deltas of sticky sweetness through the dust that clung to our hands.

Games never lasted long on those days, as we sweated out our energy too fast. It was mostly hanging out. There were initials carved in the bark of trees, and loquats stolen from unguarded backyards, and sometimes there were hose fights, until some parent came out to tell us not to waste water. The season was studded with days like this, when stray dogs with lolling tongues that dripped slowly padded along streets that radiated ripples of bent air. Now I find that on days like this, there is little to do other than remember days like this. Summer perpetuates itself. It is cool only under the ground.

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