It’s just another day…when the weather smothers the immediate world like a heavy, damp, itchy wool blanket. Breathing is hard; limbs refuse to move; mind floats just out of reach on wavy heated layers of air. The enveloping wetness smells sour. The sun is a weight pinning the torso into a sandy towel; it sears the skin and blisters the length of one’s nose. 

Ah! A faint movement of air (real? imagined?); it carries hope: the scorching sun will ease its torment and caress the body with breezy fingers. Perhaps this instant; perhaps on another day.

The air stirs now–just a hint of breezy relief. Is it enough to lure one out of the shade of a paper parasol for a giant’s cocktail, to the balmy ruffled ribbons of tiny warm waves lapping languidly at the crushed shell shore?

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