And so I end up cursing the wind whether it blows or not.

A typical June is very hot, very dry, very bright, and very hot. And dry and bright. It has only two virtues: A) It’s not half as bad as down in Saguaro country (this time of year I spend a lot of time reminding myself about Saguaro country, and how this isn’t that bad,) and B) Along around sundown a cooling breeze takes it all away.

Except when it doesn’t.

I woke in the dark with my shirt soaked through and apparently trying to dissolve the skin on my back. Flashed a light on the clock across the cabin. The big hand appeared to be on the 12 and the little hand appeared to be on the 3, and if it hadn’t cooled off by then that was just as good as the night was going to get. So I got up. Slowly, groggily put on my leg and some shorts, damned if I was going to wear a shirt all damn day if it was still this damn hot two damn hours before the damn sun even came up, y’know? Used to go through this in Florida sometime, but that was Florida, where there was humidity. Florida had an excuse. I hated Florida.

Grumped down the ladder, dreaming of coffee. The boys were amiable, but to my surprise not even Ghost wanted to go out. They seemed puzzled. I took a closer squint at the clock and learned why: It was not 3 in the morning, I’d misread a clock for maybe the first time since I was four years old.

Bother.

It was actually good news, in its way. It meant there was probably more sleep in my near future, just not right at the moment. The main floor of the Lair wasn’t really unpleasant at all, but without the night wind the loft was taking its time catching up. Just last evening I had reflected that I should have switched the loft windows: I had a bigger one and a smaller one, installed them rather randomly, and guessed wrong. The prevailing wind hits the west wall, and that’s where I should have put the bigger window. But I didn’t, and what I’ve got is what I’ve got.

So I skipped the coffee, went back up to the loft’s chair with my tattered Cryptonomicon and read for an hour until things finally cooled down. Then I collapsed back into the rack and dreamed of Bobby Shaftoe. Which, if you’re familiar with him, isn’t really that pleasant a dream subject. Giant man-eating lizards might arrive at any time.