My Grandmother always told me, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen”. It’s one of the first lessons you learn, if you want to be a kitchen baby. I have found it hard to acclimate to hell… Summer has arrived in Arizona, and I feel scorched. It’s a magician that turns your skin into sandpaper, your brain to slush, and your even temperament to senility. I’ve never been a day-napper, but 5 seconds in this weather and I am utterly lethargic, burnt out. There used to be a commercial in which they informed the public the temperature in our mouths was a whopping 98˚. I decided that anything outside of my body’s natural temperature is torturous. I love me too much to do myself intentional harm.
Folks get brown in the sunshine–Roy Ayers
So, this prodigal daughter is returning to the south. Summer’s in Tempe are harsh and relentless. You can find the thermometer reading 109˚ 2:46a.m. Sun Up to Sun Down, there is heat and more heat and hot! At least in the dirty south, when the sun goes down the Weeping Willows blow kisses in the breeze. Magnolia leaves make great fans. As a youth, I spent many a day skygazing beneath a Hickory or Pecan tree. I’m not the brightest bulb in the package, but I believe it’s safe for me to assume cacti don’t create wind, no matter how much air billows. So I am leaving this place and space to find a home that resonates with my soul. A place where I don’t mind turning my face up to the sunshine.
I thank everyone who has provided this heart with shade and given my seeds water to grow, but the thing about transplants is we are uprooted. I see the supple stems protruding from my pot. I must reroot myself… take me back to the source. No matter how much you love something, some things just aren’t meant to grow everywhere and if you force it, you might find you’ve overwatered it, killed it with love. I would love to stay for some of you, but I have to leave.