Last summer, by this point in August, the temperature dropped to highs in the mid-90s, and we dropped to our knees in gratitude. That’s because June was hotter than hell, and July plunged to the lower rungs of whatever is worst than hell times 100. By the time September seemed like a distinct possibility, we had seen so many days of 100+ degrees and drought that I was sure this was the stark planet where we would always live.
Given the reality of climate change and how temperatures overall on our planet are on the rise, I figured this year would be more of the same pain. At least this was the plan, but you know the old adage about how plans just make god laugh. This time, that laughter worked in our favor. June was mighty fine. July was lovely much of the time. The first half of August was so full of rain and mountain-like weather that one of my friends told me, “We’re having a lovely spring.”
We were, but all springs must end. Now we’ve landed in a long-term forecast of days in the high 90s and nights in the mid 70s. The a.c. blows hard and the ceilings fan whirl happily. Dogs and cats all over the house stretch out on the cool floor and sleep. We’re refilling the ice cube trays many times each day. The next break in temperature? It’s not on the horizon. Even the water in the city pool is getting bathtub-warm.
I guess I’m complaining, but how can I complain? Summer almost skipped us but caught us just in time.