In the car on the way to town, I said,”It’s hot in here!”
He said, “No, it’s not.”
“It is!” I insisted.
“It’s only really warm in here. The sun’s been on the car.”
It’s summer in Australia, and I swear he’s part fish.
In the car on the way to town, I said,”It’s hot in here!”
He said, “No, it’s not.”
“It is!” I insisted.
“It’s only really warm in here. The sun’s been on the car.”
It’s summer in Australia, and I swear he’s part fish.
The heat and humidity hung heavily in the afternoon air. The yellow of the wattles and the white trunks and green leaves of the gum trees that lined the road became more vivid in contrast to the looming darkness of the sky. In the gully where the koalas and kangaroos thrive, animal scents rose from the recently dampened earth.
A brilliant flash of lightning cut through the air, finding its earth in the paddock just beside the road, electrifying the air and then the earth around it for a white hot, fleeting moment. One flash was answered by another, further east, as the thunder rumbled deep and loud.
The rain splattered to the ground in big, lazy, messy drops that plashed carelessly on the ground, only to evaporate immediately back into the hazy hotness.