When the forecast tells us to prepare for four days of extreme temperature, we tend to panic, notwithstanding that in the very same temperature at home one of us would be digging holes or building something in humidity at least three times that which we experience here.
But we aren’t at home and we don't have any holes to dig, so we find a shady tree and lie about with only the sounds of harvesting happening on a hill far away (and the old man with the dog who sits at the picnic table drinking beer and listening to his car radio), commiserating with each other, alternately reading and wiping ourselves with cool wet towels, congratulating ourselves at the end of the day that we have made it through without fuss or the benefit of ceiling fans.
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