It’s not the heat… yes, it is.

I had forgotten the kind of New England summer day where you bake for a sunny, hot, dry morning but slowly, surely the humidity begins to rise.  There is an increasing feeling of being under pressure, as if you were trapped inside a balloon with someone pressing down from the outside.  The light has taken on that greenish pinkish tint that makes me instinctively want to scurry under something non-conductive and stay there.  There is barely any breeze; the leaves on the maples and oaks are all jittering but the wind hasn’t arrived yet.  The juncos and goldfinches know something is up; there is a flurry around the freshly-filled bird feeder.

The storm is coming.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s