Oppressed

A weak breeze arrives, but brings no cooling. It is itself like the exhalation of a fever victim, spreading contagion. Most of the night, clouds conceal the stars. Shiny bugs scurry across the hot pavement. Even a rare rustling of the leaves, however green they remain, sounds dry. Hidden by night, the whole forest could be desiccated, lying like heaped locust husks under the rainless clouds. Not so much as a flash of lightning or distant rumble of thunder enlivens these sultry hours. My displaced bones making my muscles generate their own excess of heat, I dread the onset of weariness which will force me to attempt sleep. I know that long misery awaits before I can succeed, and then the dreams will most likely be of oppression. I curse this July back to the hell from which it came.

Doomed!

Each time I see a bird flying today, I expect to see it drop to the ground, suffering heat stroke. The birds are probably aware of the risk. They mostly make short flights, from one tree to the next, taking refuge in the shade for a moment before venturing to another tree. Yesterday's clouds have vanished, and the sun blazes from perfect blue sky. Visually, the weather is marvelous, but best enjoyed through windows rather than at firsthand. Each time I venture out, I get the feeling that if I remain for more than a few minutes, even confining myself to the shade, my skin will soon begin to bubble and crisp like a pig's on a spit. So I sit and gaze out at the deserted street while being cooled by the air conditioner which sucks up energy, thus contributing to the greenhouse gasses which will, over the long run, exacerbate the heat I am avoiding. We are doomed.