fire & ice

November nights – foto by smith

Crawl from covers. Cold.
Don two sweaters and a hat.
I await coffee.

The temperature is supposed to be 52 degrees Fahrenheit this month – this morning it is 43, which is bloody cold when you’re used to the upper 70s in the afternoon. When the sun hits you, it is wonderful, but when you’re in the shade, you need a sweater or a warm woman. Heat dissipates quickly when you live in the mountains a mile above the sea.

The houses here have no heat – they’ve never needed it. Now it’s getting colder than it ever has before, and it’s raining more and longer than ever before, and folk around here are beginning to wonder if maybe global warming is real after all. (There hasn’t been any herb come down from the mountains for 4 months due to too much rain – I’ve had to scramble among strangers for my daily kindness.)

I have one of those crummy Dell laptops in which the batteries overheat so badly they burn your lap. Normally I have a plastic dish drainer between the laptop and my lap to protect me, but this morning I’m so chilled I have the hot battery directly on my legs trying to keep warm. That plus my hot cup of coffee, a hat, a neck scarf, and a heavy sweater are almost enough. Lady’s huddling beneath the bed blankets. Welcome to warm southern Mexico.

In 4 hours, the temperature will have risen 33 degrees and I’ll go up on the roof and sit in the sun next to our lime tree and feel golden.

I feel like the Prodigal Plant, cold and alone away Father Sun.

Of course where we lived 3 years ago – Cleveland Ohio – today’s low is 26 and its high is to be 36, so my low is 7 degrees higher than their high. Perhaps I should be grateful. And I am. We still have flowering trees, daily butterflies, afternoon tee-shirts, and evening herb.

Cleveland, Ohio, December 2007 – foto by smith