120º (it seems like it’s… or also hell & handbasket)

it seems like we’re being served “under glass”

that there’s a serving dome set down above the sun, trapping the heat, shimmering, relentless

we continue to cook (pink in the center) even though at this hour we’ve been pulled out of the oven of the previous day — but just long enough to think (actually deceive one’s self) “oh, it’s not going to be that bad today,” when you know you’re lying to yourself

what with the flames licking up the palm trees to the east

it’s thyme. the bees know that at this hour the nectar is the sweetest (6:53 a.m. pdt)

the italian cypress is considering a quick dip in the pool (its reasoning is upside down, but still…)

even my shadow is trying to escape, stretching out in the hope that the further away it is from the sun, the cooler it will remain (not true–i can feel the heat on the back of my neck as i stand here)

saddleback mountain a mirage

the tall pine by our house trying to edge into the shade thrown by another pine just to the east (and out of frame)

it’s true, i wonder what people do with all that space. you can only imagine what it costs to cool that shadeless pile of brick. and then i think to myself that they’re looking over at our little bungalow, nestled in the hillside, with pine trees, acacias, and palms all around (and no air conditioning) and they’re thinking to themselves, “how do they live in such constrained circumstances,” if they think about us at all.


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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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