Summer summer summertime

As a snow-loving, northeastern-born girl, I never thought I would say this, but: I love the start of summer in the desert. I love the 105 degree days, the dry air, the warm dragon’s breath wind.

What I don’t love is when the temperature drops a little, and the humidity rises more than a little. Twenty or thirty or forty percent humidity doesn’t sound high, until you add it to 105 degree days.

Which happens sometime in July, when the summer monsoon moves in. Our /s/w/a/m/p/ evaporative cooler, which cools the air delightfully in dry weather (because it works by evaporating water), becomes less efficient, more like an ordinary fan; the air, indoors and out, turns sticky. Writing in an (air conditioned) coffee shop becomes even more appealing. This is the long part of summer, the part where the heat is no longer dry.

On the other hand: in the evening, clouds gather over the mountains. The air turns electric with lightning. And when we’re lucky, the most glorious wind and rain comes whooshing through, cooling the air and energizing everything.

Water is magic in the desert. And we know instinctively that puddles are for dancing in, here.

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