I'd forgotten, if only for a moment, that June can be nearly as hot as August.
Perhaps because the bold winter in this drafty old house was so cold. So very cold.
Some say it was not as cold as it could have been.
But my blood is still thin from Africa. And I felt the cold deeply.
We were pondering the other day, he and I. Wondering where to strategically place the air conditioner units within the new house. Suffocating in the bright warmth and high humidity, we pondered the best course of action.
I closed my eyes and the still air reminded me of nights in Uganda. Of climbing beneath mosquito netting and drifting to sleep, sweaty arms and legs sticking to warm sheets in the most uncomfortable way.
It wasn't always that bad. But sometimes it was.
And for a moment, I missed it.
I missed it dreadfully.