It's hot in the South. We're in the middle of a drought. The relentless heat has cooked our vegetable gardens even before they're picked. Wavy heat rises from every driveway and parking lot. Only weeds grow in the cracks of the parched red dirt.
Last April's unexpected freeze stole our peach crop, this summer's record-breaking heat has made a good tomato hard to find. We live in air conditioning ... there are no salty breezes off the ocean to be felt here in the Piedmont. None. Zip. Nada.
Once in a while we hear about isolated showers in a neighboring county, but our creeks and rivers are either dried up or stagnant. The cows in the pasture across the street barely move. Our grass turned brown a month ago and our flowers wilted and died even before that. You don't dare go outside in your bare feet, the concrete and deck is over 100 degrees. Nobody drives with their car windows down. Humidity is a woman's worst enemy during August here in my neck of the woods. It ruins our hair and zaps our energy levels. Life just runs on even slower speeds in Southern summers. Even our y'aaalls just drag themselves out.
Summer in Greensboro is as brutal as winter in Bangor or Buffalo. Makes me wonder about all the global warming talk. But talk doesn't cool our throats or dry our sweat-soaked backs. I think there's a run on Popsicles at the Food Lion this week. I've learned to appreciate ice in my glass.
The south has come to a standstill, and I think this area just may be the hinges to Hell's back door after all.
Cooler blessings to you and yours ...