I wrote this about the same time last year. And while I am technically two days early, nothing has changed. (Except everything.) Well, and maybe the light: it’s still a scorching, lifeless, dull, enervating gray summer light beating down on us. Perhaps I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the shifting baseline of reality will have become perceptible. Probably not. You don’t notice a change in the light when you’re thinking about it.
But the light, who pays attention to that? Fools and wanderers, that’s who.
Regardless, my Dantean torments will continue for a while longer. Summer isn’t officially over. Not until September 22 at 4:44PM Eastern Daylight Time.
Nineteen more days of heat like your face melting, dripping on the ground only to be incinerated by the heat of the earth and then blown away as ash by the blast furnace winds coming down from Oklahoma and Kansas.
September is the worst month in Texas because the anticipation hurts more than the reality that relief is so close, but like a man dying of thirst in the desert you can’t tell if its water or mirage until you are right up on top of it.
“En Texas, septiembre es el mes quema,” say the Mexicans.
In Texas, September is the burning month.