Hell’s front porch

Also known as summertime in Texas

Fabian Jones on Unsplash

Hell. Is it a place or a state of mind? In Texas, it’s both during the months of July and August.
Like the Hell fabled in the Bible, a Texas summer is also inescapable and unforgiving. For those of us who were born here and have chosen to remain living here, we know what to expect every summer. But this summer- the summer of 2022- seems rather apocalyptic.

Maybe it’s that 60+ consecutive days of 100 degree weather seems like an added layer of burden to our pandemic-exhausted minds and bodies. Or maybe it’s that I’m less tolerant to this type of heat in my fifties. Or maybe it’s time to accept that our dismissive, if not comical and lazy, response to the alarm bells of climate change is catching up to us.

Who knows.

For now, I will continue to hunt for the parking spots that are under trees.

I will continue to use my Golden Girls windscreen shade for my car.

I will continue to use my fancy umbrella that protects me from harsh UV rays anytime I walk to the store.

I will water my gardens at night and again in the morning before the largest star in the Milky Way burns through our atmosphere and cooks us for another day.

There is one way out of this summer hell, though.

Time.

All we can do is wait. Wait for September 21 when the temperature magically changes. It will still be hot, but not scorching, not punishing, not brutal hot. It will be just regular Texas hot.

For now, I will mark of the remaining days of summer on my calendar with a big X and will celebrate the end of Summer 2022 in Texas when it arrives.

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maité landa

maité landa

GenXr. Coffee snob. Gardener. I know a little bit about a lot of things. Love Stephen King novels, John Coltrane and Golden Girls (plus a lot of other stuff).