But It's a Dry Heat...

This time of year

the desert blisters the unwary.

 

I watch people crawl into their shells

slither backward into dark basements 

the cool crevices of their protective havens

and wait for September, resigned.  

Spending summer months 

behind concrete walls and central air

is like self-imposed house arrest.

Like cabin fever in reverse

Minnesota in negative twenty degrees

except 

when in the desert, you step outside

and feel EVERYTHING...

Every.  Thing.

Every molecule of arid sun

every wavering doubt 

every shimmering illusion of grandeur

bleaches you, inside out.

There are only so many

clothes to take off

until you are stripped bare and left

over the fiery coal-bed of melting pavement.

There is no wind chill to numb

your insecurities away.

And so, the withdrawal

the cautious retreat

to the shadows, the hidden familiar.

I don't want to exist in an emotionless desert.

I don't want to slip back

into the mind's dark basement

and forget the warmth of

the human condition.

I don't want to construct walls--

psychological or otherwise--

or succumb to the fear of heat stroke. 

I will step out

wear sunscreen

breathe deep in the dry heat

and embrace the day.