Sweat, Summer, Somewhere
Sweat, Summer, Somewhere
Ovens and Evers
July 18, 2019
The Heat
It’s so hot in Chicago the shadows are sweating.
The shadows are still under the relentless sun but emerge at night and roam through the darkness, inhaling the blue breeze, kicking through the humid beauty of a July that was the same July in 1988, 1969, 1933 and 1919.
July is always a hot bridge, carrying us from summer’s promise to autumn’s doorstep.
July, she will fly, and give no warning to her flight, Simon and Garfunkel sang. Dustin Hoffman drove his convertible and bedded Anne Bancroft. In California it’s always July. Summer is forever and sunglasses are your eyes.
In Chicago July is only itself. It is hot in the day, still in the night and baseballs disappear into the stars like an astronaut, like a lightning bug, like each day of midsummer that evaporates yet lingers long after you’ve finished reading that Hemingway novel and the station wagon pulls away, its radio blaring and taillights blinking. --TK
Thursday, July 18, 2019