The summers here are hot and thick and unyielding. People have every right to complain. The humidity plays tricks with your hair and settles like a sheen over your skin. Opening your car is like coming face to face with a dragon, and sweat trickles down places you otherwise ignore throughout the year.
But in spite of all of that, I’ve always loved the way the heat warps time and slows things down so that even the days seem to stretch toward infinity. How the rain and thunder that always ride its coattails shake the dead leaves and weak branches from the highest treetops. How the storms spend their mornings and afternoons generating force and power before they descend in a dark gray fury. The hours of heat and minutes of aggressive rain purge and cleanse, and it’s probably why I like summer so much.
There are no real winters here. Nothing blankets the grasses or trees, and fall, for all of its beauty, only grazes the city. I don’t get to shed last year’s skin until the sun is hot enough to bake into my bones and the sea is angry enough to send over her storms.
For many, renewal comes with spring, but life has always been fond of teaching me how to create new beginnings from abrupt endings.