It has been days of a thick heat, the kind you cannot see but that weighs. Blinds lowered, the house in half-light, the fan turning in a corner like a patient animal.
The heat is hard on me. It makes me slow, takes away the wish to do things and forces me to stay still, which is exactly what I resist.
I have learned, summer after summer, that heat is not fought: it is accompanied. You open a window at dawn, drink water slowly, eat little and early.
I spent the afternoon reading a bit, dozing a bit, letting the body do what it asked for. Nothing urgent, nothing important.
There is a patience only learned on hot days, as if summer were teaching us not to push.
At dusk a little air ran through the hallway, and I went out onto the balcony to watch the city wake with its lights coming on.
I like the moment when the heat surrenders and gives way to the cool night. It always comes. You only have to wait for it.