Every summer is hot, but this summer is one for the books.

It’s late afternoon and I let the dogs out – as I open the back porch door, I smell the Weber grill. Grease, propane, and the scent of memories of grilled food flood my nose. The grill is red, and it’s hot in the afternoon sun.

The heat index is triple digits.

The air is like a heavy blanket on my asthmatic lungs, smothering me. The tropical plants are drawn in or wilting, fresh from this morning’s watering. I’ll have to soak them down again if rain doesn’t come.

Big, luscious hibiscus blooms have turned into crisp, papery discs, ready to be pressed in books. “Ode To Summer.”

The dogs skirt the concrete, keeping their pads off a surface you can fry an egg on. No lingering to smell or sniffing around for squirrels.

They rush back into the house, and the a/c, and I thank God for its coolness. The slow, sultry breeze outside does nothing to comfort. It only carries the suffering in air form.

I peer out the window and see the high clouds in the blurry summer sky.

I hate thunderstorms, but we need relief.

Let it rain!