When this familiar wave of summer heat arrives, I pray for rain, knowing the chance of an answer is slim. Still I pray at the dawn of each morning, when gray light shifts into the color of fish bellies, before the even brighter shade of sunlit blue blasts into view--all hope is lost. Here in the southern tip of the country, it can feel like we bath in the midst of a hot tongue, the golden center of flames where fire burns at its hottest. Though this is just how a spoiled child talks--someone who has grown so used to blue skies and golden sunshine she has developed a blase attitude towards both. I know in many places things can get worse, hotter, stuffier (even when you go outside there is not the least hint of a breeze like we often get here, nearer to the ocean) and more crowded in so many ways.
Still I dreamt of rain and dark forests and a chill that allows a tighter pull on the covers, until it buries your chin and feeling the official comfort of a proper snuggle. In this dream I also met coworkers with whom I haven't spoken for years so I no longer remembered the angst I felt when I worked with him or her daily. We sipped tea and commented on rain in a way that seemed both realistic yet unfamiliar, tangible yet out of this world. We each carried a backpack and walked around gates that seemed infinite, in and out, around and around, we searched for some elusive tables where we could sign up, register and check off our names so we could move towards the next item in the agenda. Yet the table never appeared so we took breaks and found ourselves instead, a version we'd never met before. It was green all around, cold, soothing. Until it wasn't. A white room appeared for some time. Then again it was no more.
I knew not it was a dream until I woke up so I experienced emotions whose names I can no longer remember but I sense a lingering sweetness in having had the experience.
In the dream we wore the rosy veil of time, like the song says. Or perhaps that too was about something else (La Vie En Rose). But somehow the dream air glossed over faults and rough edges and differences in opinions. The longing to roll back in time became almost unbearable, the rush to win all those dusty trophies we can no longer find in our attics had been so ruthless and singular minded then.
Perhaps there is something else to seek when the morning light finally appeared, gray and white then blue before the golden flames of heat took over. The moment of stillness in the cool gray dawn lasts forever, in how it comes around and around again, for as long as we seek it and see it and remain awake for it, each day. That is something to celebrate, a reason to bear and pray, through the heat.