It's the middle of November for Cripes Sake. And it's hot. Africa Hot. Dry, crunchy, gritty hot. The Santa Ana's blow in from the northeast bleaching the already beige landscape. It billows up dust like dancing petticoats as the trees nod their approval. It fills the air with grit and every part of my body that sees the outdoors feels like sandpaper. My eyes are dry and scratchy. My lips feel bruised and chapped. The boy's skin is ashey and Jonah's lips and nose peeling and cracked and red. And we are crabby. Not just us, but everyone. The whold town is in edge. We watch the horizon for the telltale signs of smoke. It's too damn hot! But the wind doesn't care. It continues to howl through the valley, oblivious to the the fire tail it most often leaves behind. Maybe not here, but soon. And near. We will just continue to scan the sky with worried faces, watch for smoke and pray for rain.
We did manage to take a few hours to go to the beach. It just seems wrong though, to really sunbathe in November. We didn't bring the sand toys or an umbrella. We didn't even bring bathing suites. We thought the water would be too cold for swimming. Apparently we were misinformed. It doesn't matter what the calender says, if it FEELS like July, well then-it's a beach day! The sand was dotted with umbrella and blankets as if it were a summer weekend. They boys were quite disgusted with our lack of knowledge. Okay fine. The clothes will dry. Especially in this windy heat.
Busking in Worcester (508 #279)
1 month ago