Oh, Fickle Muse!

I meant to be writing about a dance in Pittsburgh. I will get to that, I swear, but this is what happens when you sit on the patio at Raging Sage in lovely weather.

The small patio at Raging Sage is full today. The burble of voices mixes around me and orange blossoms cover us all with sweet smells. Can you blame us all for taking this beautiful morning out in the Arizona sun? This is the land of Never-Winter, where Summer is never ever far way. While the rest of the country shivers in the dark and in the cold, we bask in warmth, and house finches and mockingbirds sing, adding their voices to our shared happiness.

Soon, of course, we won't be joyous. Sooner than we want or expect, Never-Winter will end and Summer will return, almost certainly with force. After all, he has only barely been held back this year. Even as I soak in the warmth of spring sun, I can feel him. I can feel him scaring away our deep freezes and drying out our soft winter rains. He is nudging us toward what I think will be a dictatorial season of stifling heat. There are joys there too, but they're fleeting and few: the blast of heat after spending too much time air-conditioned, the first sip of icy beverage in 100+ degrees. But too quickly Summer dries out those small joys. Or forces them out of you through your pores in sweat that evaporates so quickly you don't know it existed.

So I will enjoy this beautiful spring morning all the more knowing (though maybe not admitting to myself) that it is fleeting and will too soon be trampled under the heel of cruel Summer.