It is going to be another hot one today
And she believes it
As she steps outside
And feels the heat rise
In the breeze-less air
What happened
To the cool, breezy days of spring
Not in Southern California
California means “Hot Oven” in Spanish
What an appropriate name
for a place that has no seasons
Where it can be 95 degrees in December
and 60 degrees in June
But earthquakes occasionally stir things up
and make living here interesting on Monday morning, 11:30AM
What a difference from last Sunday, she thinks
As she breathes in the heavy air of the evening sky
Even though the clouds have finally lifted
the air remains heavy, weighted with nature’s garbage
She wonders how people survived in this place before air conditioning was invented
They must have been cold blooded or thick skinned, she decides
But then her thoughts turn to the events of last week
The cool air blanketed by fluffy clouds blocking out the sun
Stirring up a chilly, brisk wind
Not a great day for a picnic in the park
What she wouldn’t give to have been at that same park on this hot, sticky day
But a a nice, cold serving of frozen yogurt is a satisfying replacement
And she realizes that she had a perfectly happy, do nothing day
As she lays down to sleep on Sunday evening.
This is the question that people often ask after I’ve read my poetry aloud to them. The truth is that I get ideas from many areas of my life: people I meet, places I go, the weather, events, moods, what I read and countless other sources.
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