Stultifyingly-hot temperatures, soaring humidity, and the sweaty mess that results – this is when summer turns to high, and after several summers that never quite got off the ground, we are embracing this one. A bit of discomfort is a small price to pay for such glorious summer weather, and whenever I find myself about to complain about the heat, the desolate memory of an expanse of snow and ice blanketing the pool comes to mind, and I inhale the happy heat and carry on with the day.
Smoky and hazy days lead to sultry nights, and the slow-burn of a jazzy torch song breaks the midnight silence. For the day, something equally languid and spell-binding, such as this tune by REM – ‘Summer Turns to High’ from their ‘Reveal’ album – the ideal embodiment of the heady and hot days we’ve been having of late.
mercury is rising still
turn the fan on high
I won’t step on my own shadow
no one wants to cry
someone put a pox on me
I’ll spit in their eye
summer turns to high
Lounging about the pool, in between dips, slowly reading the same page of a book over and over again because the brain is too hot and fuzzy to make sense of it – this is summer gladness and summer madness. Plans crumble in such heat, outfit-plotting becomes about survival and comfort rather than fashion or fit. A towel in most instances will do, and nobody bothers with shoes anymore.
with my bedsheet cape and sandals
circle citronella candles
summer’s here, the light is raising
hopes and dragonflies
If those hopes are overshadowed,
cotton candy, caramel apple.
summer turns to high
summer turns to high
summer turns to high,
summer high
An attitude of ‘fuck-it-all’ pervades in the giddiest and most polite manner possible. A tricky thing to navigate, unless it’s summer, then anything goes and no one seems to mind. A carelessness pervades the messy days, all imperfection and sweat, and dousing oneself in the water of a hose while watering the gardens… it’s all here, and it’s all right.
after wine and nectarines
the fireflies in time
move like syrup through the evening
with a sweet resign
I won’t pine for what could have been-
I’m preoccupied
summer turns to high
summer turns to high
summer turns to high,
summer high.
