110 In The Shade: Don’t sweat it?

Richard Ryan

 It was mid-June, not yet officially summer, and the power went out in my neighborhood. It was 114 degrees Fahrenheit outdoors. Not to worry, right? It’s not that the house heats up immediately. What’s noticeable is the stillness. The silence is startling as all lights, fans, appliances, and the ever present hum of the air conditioners stop. It all stops. Shuts down. It’s pleasant, that is, till the idea of no electricity sets in.

I hold my breath. Maybe if I sit still, the heat won’t get in, or at least, I won’t notice it. Robert Frost wrote of the fog creeping in on “little cat feet.” Here the heat slithers in like a rattlesnake. Quietly, circling everything in the room, in the house. No escaping it.

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