At approximately 2:30am, the Heavens opened a window and threw a large bucket of water out over us. The deluge was short-lived, a thundering cavalcade across the roof and up against windows. I awakened, heard the sound and thought, ‘oh good, this will break up the heat’.
The heat yesterday was beastly. Not beastly like the reddened land, burning up, lung searing, bury oneself in crusted sand heat; that’s the temperature the southwest endures. Our heat, the heat in the northeast is the kind which makes one stand at the end of the driveway, arms akimbo and say things such as ‘huh’ and ‘wait until February’. It sets us back a step or two. We don’t fight it. We don’t join it.
My Mother admonishes us as children on our annual westward trek to South Dakota, ‘don’t fight it, it will make you hotter!’ We wail from the back seat, ‘but look, the entire box of crayons has completely melted!’ She nods. ‘Shhh…don’t move. It makes you hotter!’ We cry out from the back seat, ‘but the seat belt buckles are branding our legs!’ ‘Shhh…hush. Read a book, crank open a window, be quiet’.
In the living room, I look curiously out of the window. The street is empty. There are a lot of children in this neighborhood. They will come out later as the evening shadows draw down. I have not seen our neighbors who live behind us for days now, it seems. Then at twilight, I witness her with the dog and the family together creep quietly out of the house and head up the cooling sidewalk. The huge, white furry husky looks bedraggled and generally disappointed with life.
I move to the porch, wave from the corner railing and say, ‘Hello, how are you?’ ‘Oh’…she sighs heavily. ‘We are finding things to do’. I nod and chuckle. ‘Huh’ I offer helpfully. ‘Huh’ she responds in kind.
They wander quietly away, the dog still grieving his fate…
690 Saint Paul 