Copernicus was a lucky cuss

During the summer months in the Midwest, the profusion of lush trees and green grass and vivid flowers affords humans a sense of place and verdant oneness: You + Nature = Besties. The sun is the kindly benefactor of photosynthesis and outdoor fun. The solar engine shines, its rays highlighting its natural handiwork. The frolicking humans romp in a veritable garden of Eden, minus the sin and snakes. Overhead an inspiring sunrise is outdone only by a brilliant sunset. Ah, the splendid days of a Midwest summer. In contrast, the desert sun is large and in charge- even in winter. The summer here is nearly as hot as the actual surface of said star. For example, in 2017, the high temperature in Las Vegas was 117 degrees (which coincidentally is my bowling average). The locals assure: “It’s a dry heat.” Yeah well, so is fire. The hotshot desert sun steamrolls over the man-made world; causing sedans to swelter, door handles to burn unsuspecting flesh and unprotected eyeballs to be temporarily blinded. Dehydration is de rigueur. Delicate flowers wilt away. Cool breezes are suspended until further notice. People hole up like weather-fearing vampires in dark chambers of air-conditioning. It’s said that Las Vegas sizzles; and yes it does, literally. The hot never trots. Even when the sun sets, the heat overstays its welcome, pulling an all-nighter to greet the morning sun. One’s will to live begins to melt, along with everything else. The big heat doesn’t begin to let up until September. It’s currently April, and with each passing day, the incremental daily climb in temperature signals the alarming coming heat-bomb. Tick, tick, tick. Savoring spring’s pleasant warmth is tempered by the nagging, unstoppable fact: Heinous heat is coming soon to a desert near you. Fear kindles in the Midwestern brain. There is no escape, only retreat. In response, a slowly waving, faded white flag unfurls, emblazoned with the battle cry: “See you in September!”.