Summer Heat

The heat crawls across the prairie like a snake slithering through the grass. Endless days of it broken only by rain and storms that could bring a breath of cool air but now just add to the humidity. When I step outside the air-conditioned apartment the air smacks me in the face like a wet dish rag that has been left on the top of the stove.

A few nights ago I was caught in a lightning storm while driving to pick up one of the kids. The lightning flashed so blindingly that it was hard to see the already wet and darkened road. I had to pull over more than once and drove ever so slowly with my hazard lights flashing, worried that someone might hit me from behind.

When I got a few miles on to the reserve, all the lights were out. Eerie with no street lights or house lights peering through the darkness. Across the river the lights of the north shore reflected strangely in the river.

Finally I got to the house pulling carefully into the driveway over the potholes and puddles. The house was in darkness, no candles, lit strangely by the glow of cell phones. The only light in the thick, dark night. The storm had passed, gone quickly as if spent too fast. The air felt fresh for the first time in several days.