Interesting, that this bench, this place of rest, sits unprotected in the sun, when what I want so desperately on a hot, hot summer day, a day that is not even officially summer by calendar definition, is relief in the shade nearby. It seems that the start of June, and not some appointed number three weeks later, is the beginning of summer here in the desert southwest. Nights turning cool in the wee hours of the morning, that had us reaching for a quilt, suddenly reveal us kicking off even the top sheet of our bed. The swamp coolers struggle away later and later into the night.

The news reported that it rained in parts of this city yesterday. In those places, the streets filled with water. For the rest of us, the reward was cloudy skies. The weatherman talked about the smell of rain. And later, he talked about it again. Something deep in his memory sense left him longing. I know that fragrance, laid over the juniper that populates this place where rain is an infrequent visitor. In the morning aftermath of that unexpected break in the heat yesterday, a new day where blue skies reign and temperatures reach again into the 90s, I know that fragrance of cool, stingy moisture lightly brushing the land.