Too Hot Not To Handle

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The air is still. So still I can barely hear the crickets chirp. The window is open wide to the sultry night and somewhere far down the street a dog barks. It must be midnight. Every now and then, the faintest, coolest breeze kisses my skin. The leaves sigh.

Softly he rests his hand on my arm.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” My lips scarcely move. The words are a flat monotone in the dark.

His amused chuckle fills the heated space between us, and he rolls over.

It’s too hot. Too hot to touch. To be touched. Too hot to think, to exhale, to remember if I turned the dishwasher on. Even the whisper-soft breeze has stopped. It’s too hot to sleep and I feverishly wonder what tomorrow will bring. If it ever comes.

***

The sun scorches the trail we’re walking on, and a spotted lizard darts under a bush next to me. Its branches are crackly and brittle, and the dry leaves curl themselves like miniature cups, waiting for water. I take just a sip. It’s warm.

“I want to find the French Trail,” I murmur. I know that is the trail that is shaded and cool. It’s the trail where the trees are the tallest. They stretch and bend their skinny redwood trunks up up up toward the sun and they filter the light in leafy, holy patterns. G-d’s light.

But I am not usually able to find it. I take a wrong turn, start on the wrong path, or run out of time.

“Okay, so let’s find it,” he says next to me. He holds out his hand as we start to make our way down through the trees, out of the dusty, beating sun and over the thick roots and fallen logs. Something scuttles but otherwise all is quiet. The sky stretches white-blue above us and the sweat makes a slow trickle down my neck. I grab his hand. Too hot.

We walk carefully in silence for a while. The roots coil over each other in deceptive lines, and I worry he is going to twist his ankle. He asks if I’m okay.

“Here it is!” I can’t believe it. French Trail with an arrow that way.

I hadn’t wanted to go on a hike that morning. The heat is intolerable, insufferable and the sun bites my skin with iron-hot teeth every time I go outside. I am moody and cranky and only looking for ways to escape, not walk towards, any kind of inferno. Out there or inside.

And there is a grocery list at the bottom of my purse, and two essays waiting to be continued, and it’s an early dismissal day so even less hours to get this sweaty mess together. Who hikes when it’s 95 degrees out… at 9am?

But it is a rare morning of togetherness. A time that caught us both by surprise, when we could shift schedules and be flexible and walk and talk and breathe in nature and in light.

The light floats through the trees and we walk, close but not touching. This is where I want to be, I think, in this cool, shaded silence that smells green and full of hope. Hope that the drought will break, that the heat will ease, that this peace and calm will stay with us today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

And suddenly we are back in the sun, working our way upward to where we started. Because what goes down must always come back up, and it’s hard. The flies buzz around my ears and the dust is in my nose and I stop to gasp mouthfuls of hot, stagnant air every few feet. Slow-going.

“You are so noisy,” I mutter as he tries his own system of inhale exhale. My disapproval is as thick as the air.

“Just trying to survive,” he puffs as he strides past me. I knew he would say that. When I come around the next bend he is waiting for me. We are steps away from the car.

“It was so great until the last part.” I stop right there in the broiling sun. He nods in agreement. And even as the words are out my mouth I know that’s not true. It was great, even the last part. It is great. And it’s not over.

It’s time to say goodbye. To get on with our days, as usual. To try and stay cool, and remember that in the parched dust of our discomfort and in the breathtaking dappled light of love and ease, we are together.

“This was a good suggestion,” I say.

“I’m glad you were available,” he replies.

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This is a Finish the Sentence Friday post, where writers and bloggers gather together to share their versions of a completed sentence. This week’s prompt was, “Each Fall, I…” Hosted by Kristi of Finding Ninee, and co-hosted by Julie from Carvings on a Desk, and Danielle from Way Off Script. This is the Fall that does not yet feel like Fall, but every year around this time I notice a shift somewhere nearby.

117 thoughts on “Too Hot Not To Handle”

  1. It may not look feel like fall – but from you pictures it does look like it:). And I’m exhausted after reading about your walk – and thirsty. Your writing is as gorgeous as ever.

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  2. So much to love about this, Nicki. Scraping out time together whenever you can, the “don’t touch me” when it’s too hot to make contact with anything but the stifling air, and the not being over. This morning is the first crisp morning we’ve had on the east coast this month, and I’m feeling the shift too.

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  3. Wow, it’s hard to believe this gorgeous place you describe is close enough to your home that you and your husband can sneak away to it for a quick hiking date before you dive back into your daily writing projects and grocery store shopping and kids returning from school. Nicki, your writing, so vivid and simply crisp, drew me right into your surroundings and all the senses. I didn’t want it to end.

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    • Thank you for your lovely words Julie Jo. I do feel very lucky that we live in this beautiful part of CA, minutes away from water and mountains and trees… Now if only it would rain!

      Thank you for hosting FTSF this week xo

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  4. So so beautiful Nicki. Utterly breathtaking in all of the ways. You are so full of talent and lovely perspective always. Tomorrow and tomorrow, too. xoxo big huge

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  5. What a beautifully written piece, Nicki! I just love this! I felt so hot, I felt frustrated walking down and up again. The filtered light, the almost frantic need to escape the heat. The gratitude for finding and taking advantage of found time together!

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  6. I was so excited to read this! Love seeing the woods through your eyes – from the descriptions of nature to the ups and downs and inner and outer challenges that nature helps make you aware of… Way to get out there – together! Wishing you many more nature hikes and Shabbat Shalom and Shana Tova. XO -N-

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  8. Beautiful writing – as usual! I sympathize with your feelings about the extreme heat, but wasn’t it hot like that in South Africa? I suppose, too, that the weather must have changed since we lived in NorCal. I still remember it being so moderate; always gently sunny except for a brief period during the winter. Delightfully non-humid. So perhaps either the weather has become disagreeable, or my memory is filtering out the disagreeable times that occurred while we lived there…..

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    • The weather has gone crazy Anna! I’ve never experienced heat like this here before. You’re right tho about SA – It does get very hot there and you’d think I’d be able to handle extreme heat but I’ve lived in NorCal so long I am completely acclimatized!

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  10. Your writing made me even more excited for the cool days of Fall. I’m sitting in an air conditioned house and yet I completely felt the muggy stale heat you described. Nope, I don’t think I will miss that heat anytime soon. I am glad you were able to spend time with him in such a simple and serene way. Hold on to those moments. They mean the most 🙂

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  11. Aw, I absolutely loved reading about your walk and I know even though it is still pretty warm here, I am beginning to notice in a shift in the air, as well and know Fall and cooler weather is bound to find us sooner rather than later, too.

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  13. I’ve been wanting to read this since you posted over a week ago. It was well worth the wait. I love love love your detailed vivid descriptions that draw me into the place and time with you. I felt like I was there with the two of you during this stolen time together. Thank you for sharing these moments with us. xo

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  18. so very lovely, this writing, Nix…..I’m new here but glad to be here….I loved: “The light floats through the trees and we walk, close but not touching. This is where I want to be, I think, in this cool, shaded silence that smells green and full of hope.”

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  19. Yeah, good stuff here. I liked these lines: “The sun scorches the trail we’re walking on, and a spotted lizard darts under a bush next to me. Its branches are crackly and brittle, and the dry leaves curl themselves like miniature cups, waiting for water. I take just a sip. It’s warm.”

    The French Trail in Redwood Regional Park is close to where my son lives in Oakland. 😎

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  32. Hi, Nicki. You are exactly the type of writer I am striving to be. I loved your post, followed your page, and enjoyed exploring. One of my favs is “Life after Life” too. I definitely look forward to reading more of you. Congrats on the FP. 🙂

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  33. Hello. As an amateur writer I had not thought about color affecting my sense of smell until reading your description “the smell of green”. I thought this description was very poignant and stimulating to the senses beyond that of mere visual imagery. Excellent use of words !

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  36. This is a great piece. I enjoyed reading it and it was written very well. I can totally relate to the it is to hot to touch. I have been there before. Makes me wonder where you are located. haha. I’m in Vegas and I was freezing my fingers this morning, but I will enjoy it because all I can think about it the 100 degree weather we will have back in the summer. The area looks beautiful though.

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  37. pieces like this one are the reason i keep reading around. i just recently took on creative writing as a hobby and i decided to read around to see how other people write and learn from them and this one is definitely a good specimen. i like how i can picture the scenes in my head clearly without it being overly detailed. thanks for writing!

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  39. I really enjoyed your post. Your descriptive writing style really takes me to the location and all that is happening there, and the mood you portray throughout the text is totally relatable.

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    • I agree with this comment wholeheartedly. Your writing has the kind of literary flow and rhythm I strive for. Reading this was like listening to a soft, instrumental melody while watching the scene from above.

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