Drip, Drip, Hurray!

It's absolutely sweltering in our little slice of heaven today.

Sweltering, as in the-backs-of-my-hands-started-to-sweat-while-I-popped-out-of-the-office-for-lunch.

It's so hot that I'm relatively certain my brains are melting.

Summer does that, you know.

In my mind, Summer is a woman. She's got strawberry blonde hair, somewhat frizzy but in the best possible way. The sort of hair that seems to have an attitude all of its own, but without being so rambunctious as to scare the neighbors by looking as though a small rodent has taken up residence therein.

Summer has friendly green eyes. Not blue like the ocean as is so typically assumed, but green like the trees and the grass that reach up to embrace the warm sunlight. The sort of vibrant green that resonates with the human spirit in the mutual adoration of nature.

Summer's clothes are thin and wafty, moving gently around her like the breeze across an open field. They're brightly colored without being gaudy, exuding the vibrance of the season.

Summer isn't a slight little slip of a woman. She's Amazonian in height and in character, taking a strong hold when she's ready and not a moment before. She's solidly muscular, commanding the attention of anyone upon whom she turns her gaze.

As such, I've realized this is why summer seems so much more oppressive of women.

She's beautiful. It echoes through her very core - the essence of Summer is beauty, and that essence is undiluted and pure.

Which, of course, makes her a fickle bitch.

"Oh, puny mortals..." she seems to taunt on the most humid of days. It's as though she tests us with the strangling hold of moisture - like the owner of a willful pup, she spritzes liberally with her water sprayer to keep our spirits from becoming too free.

Other days, she's seemingly so taken with emotion that her tears pour openly over the earth. As though the pressure of that ever-present beauty has become too heavy a burden to bear, and she simply cannot carry that weight further. And so she veils herself in a hay shroud, willing the rain to come.

On some of those days, her anger breaks free and pierces through the sky. The crashing of thunder and crackling of lightning lay testament to her ferocity. Her beauty comes with a temperamental price.

But most days, her beauty simply is. She radiates warmth and positive energy over the earth after she's certain that Spring has shaken the last tendrils of Winter from the land.

Once she decides to come, she leaves no question as to her presence and her strength.

That's Summer, to me.

Please Note: It was difficult for me - especially so today - to be serious and poetical. As I was putting these thoughts together, it seemed as though every single facet of my environment were screaming "BE FUNNY! Look! Here's something funny you can think about!!"

For instance: When I picked up a call, and the caller sneezed in my ear.

Strength of character alone willed me to finish the post without scrapping it and going for the joke.

But eventually I had to cave... because even the strongest willed woman is going to do that from time to time.