Right now, I’m sitting in my porch swing, watching the flowers in the pot next to the door move in the breeze. It is such a wonderful, wondeful breeze. But first, I must begin at the beginning.
Yesterday it was 100 degrees in Savannah. The heat index was about 115 – so basically it felt like the boiling pits of hell. All you had to do was go near an outside door, you didn’t even have to open it, and you’d start sweating. Last night, even with the air conditioner on, the overhead fan, and an oscillating fan aimed at the bed, I couldn’t sleep. Too hot. I’m not kidding.
Today wasn’t much different. I was downtown working, sitting on a bench and baking in the shade. 95 degrees, with triple-digit heat indices. I remember thikning, “Just ten degrees cooler and it wouldn’t be so bad. 20 degrees cooler and I’d probably think it was cold.”
I spent my afternoon indoors, and a thunderstorm ripped through town. Hail momentarily fell outside my window. Apparently, the ice cubes from heaven cooled the drink I call Savannah, because when I opened the door to leave work, I stopped. A cool wind was whipping through the parking lot, and I had sudden thoughts of fall football games and even sweaters. Yes, I thought of sweaters, though only hours before I’d been sweating just fine on my own.
So that brings me to now, sitting on the porch swing, barely able to believe that my wish was granted. I checked the temperature a moment ago – 73 degrees. I’d love to sleep with the windows open tonight, except the cat would escape. Damn cat. Blessed breeze.