100

Yeah, I like round numbers. Consider these:

100 days ago, the temperature outside, on the front porch, was 50.

100 hours from now I’ll be 59 and 3 months old.

100. Will we be having 100 days of summer? Of dry earth and thirsty bushes and trees?

We bike to Paul’s just as it hits 100 degrees.

Biking behind me, Ed shouts – you look like a character from Alice in Wonderland, billowing ahead. (The reference is, I’m sure, to my poofy sundress.)

Picture worthy?
I think so.

I’ll stop.

No, I want it from the seat of my bike.

Here it is:

Inside that envelope of fabric, there is at least a breeze, not a cool breeze, but still, a movement of air and for the minute that we coast down a hill it almost feels normal. Then we slow down and it is hot again. Parched and dry, hot, hot, hot. 100 degrees hot.