Summer in the swamp

An ode to summer's heat-induced malaise

Sep 03, 2022

*Shot with a Pentax ME Super on Kodak Tri-X 400*

Hello friends,

As we leave August, the heat is at its most oppressive here in Florida. The temperature is currently 89ºF, but the feels-like is 100ºF. Somehow, the humidity is only 61 percent. I’m out on the porch smoking a cigar while I type this. The porch is covered, and the fan’s blowing at full speed. Even so, sweat beads on every available inch of my skin.

People don’t realize how much life slows down in the swampy summer. We stay indoors as often as possible, sheltering in the cool of the air conditioning. No matter how beautiful the outdoors appear through a window, reality reminds us why we stay inside. The second we open the door, we’re hit with a wall of heat and humidity that traps us like flies in honey. Every breath feels like drowning, but the ambient warmth lulls us to sleep. To venture out onto pavement barefoot is an exercise in masochism. The sun reminds us all that we are guests here.

I’m not entirely sure where this letter is going. Every sentence takes me a couple of minutes to form. Each word feels like it’s clawing its way out of my heat-addled brain. The hum of my pool pump fills the air, occasionally punctuated by waves of cicada calls and planes flying overhead. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but for now, the sunlight scatters the pool surface into a million sparkling jewels.

Maybe this letter is going nowhere. And maybe that’s okay. Sometimes I feel like I’m going nowhere, but I’m always somewhere. Right now, I feel like a lizard sunbathing—or maybe an earthworm frying on the pavement. Either way, the taste of nicotine swirls in my mouth. On the exhale, it floats away as lazily as everything else under the Florida sun.

Next week the Sad Poets Society will meet to discuss Matthew Rohrer’s “There is Absolutely Nothing Lonelier.” Subscribe below if you’d like to join us.

Until next time,
Yardena