It's that time of year again: monsoon season is setting in. Temperatures are high; the dew point is inching up: and each evening the buildings, roads, and sidewalks belch their daily heat into the warm city air—air trapped between mountains and with nowhere to escape. It's hot and getting hotter.
Not counting my first five years, I've lived only in places where summer is the dreaded season. This is truer in Houston than in Phoenix; Houston summers are tougher and last a month or two longer. (Clearly I'm not talking about calendar summers here.) But in both places—and San Antonio, where I lived a couple of summers—spring and fall have the easiest weather, the golden mean between the extremes. I'm interested to know what life is like someplace where the extreme itself is golden, where summer has the easiest weather.
Though, in three months, I'll go back to not caring.
2 comments:
Just be glad you're not a cat.
Laura— For many reasons!
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