04 April 2011 | Summer Arrives. Get Me Out.

Summer has already descended, and I'm ready to split. 

Yes, when you live in the Southwest, it's going to get hot. Very hot. There's no escaping the shimmering that occurs when you walk down the street. The hot air that doesn't blast you as much as it blankets you, especially in the late evening. 

But the mornings remain the best time, really, because before summer officially arrives on the calendar, it's still cool enough to enjoy. So you see the sun creeping over the mountains, illuminating stop signs with brilliance and the waving of tree branches and rustling leaves with the cool breeze. Birds converse after a long absence, punching the morning silence that's different from spring morning quietude. 

But then it gets hot. Mornings are no longer pleasant because the heat from the night before is still dancing around, mocking you. The birds, clearly bugged by the heat as well, take more than usual dumps on your car. You then start wondering about the feasibility of sleeping in the shower stall. That nice, bladeless Dyson fan you have? It's now in service to the heat: I'm not doing much now, but thanks for spending $200 on me!

Yes, summer in the desert has never been easy. But growing older makes you a better meteorologist because you can divine the weather. I woke up a few night ago at 3 a.m. with a start: "Something's changed," I murmured to a still room, like Ms. Cate Blanchett's character in "Lord of the Rings." Yeah, the following day it got to be 90 degrees. Pretty soon it will be cold weather than starts showing up in my elbows or knees long before my iPad app shows me the forecast. 

It may technically be spring, but desert dwellers know there's only two seasons: damn hot and not-so-damn hot. We have a respite for a bit in January through March, but we know, we *just know* the Change is here.

And we shudder in silent dread.