I don’t complain about hot weather. This past winter was so cold I could it feel it in my extremities, my fingers and toes numb for days, my nose a blue nub, the winter was so cold I felt it all the way up into my scars (specifically the one behind my right ear). What is it about healed skin that stays so sensitive for years?

The past few days have been laced with heat, my body in a state of perpetual thaw. With joy I deeply water my garden, sitting up-right in pots, neatly stacked against the fence and our neighbor’s garage made out of cement blocks. The cement emits a heavy heat against my peppers, which cheerfully rise toward the sky. All but the sad little habanero plants are doing well. Abandoned in a smaller pot for days while the weather remained frigid, the habanero was attacked by bugs before being properly transplanted. Now, they languish under the heat in an attempt to catch up with their pepper kin.

I teach two classes in a stiflingly hot studio room. The kids are sweaty, excited, thrilled to be dancing. One mother is so pregnant that I’m shocked she is mobile. Her little girl stands in the center of the parachute, eyes bright, hands clasping at the wafting fabric. The parachute emits a pleasant breeze and I quickly figure out how to turn the fan on.

I come home and paint my toenails bright red.