Now’s when people really start to look
weary with heat—and no, it’s not a
desert heat or the moist kind that leaves
you sweaty all day and night.

It’s just garden variety Northern California
hot stuff, and though so much of the country
has fallen into, well, fall, we here are “enjoying”
temps into the mid- and upper 90s.

And yes, while 100 degrees on the first day
of October seems excessive for what used
to be called Indian summer, which had
nothing to do with native people and

everything to do with racist monikers,
I digress. While I, too, like so many of my
fellow citizens, wish the sun would dial
it back a bit, these days of musty warmth

require my presence in the yard, hose in
hand, giving the last of the heroic hollyhocks
a good squirt, as they nod to the persistent
roses on their too-leggy stems. They’ll all

be gone soon, and the yard will look wan
and pale, bleached of color like the winter sky.
And then, on those days when my toes
never truly get warm, I’ll long for the last

hot, breezy afternoons of endless summer
when I stood in the yard in my lavender
flip-flops, watering faithful plants as well
as my feet, watching a single bee busily

going about its day job, quite ignoring
my admiring gaze, having no idea
what’s coming our way.