Its 9AM. The sun has been up for only a few hours. A bead of sweat slowly rolls down my cheek meeting with another. A tributary to the river that will develop in a half an hour. I am barely awake. The pillow, from which I have just raised my head, is soaked. I hazily remember shifting restlessly through the night surveying for a dry spot. Folding, flipping, positioning, seeking the maximum level of dry coolness. The cotton blanket I brought with me from a former home lies roughly tossed at the end of the bed. Abandoned early in my attempt to rest. The comforting feel and warm familiarity will have to wait for cooler climates. The fan hangs from the ceiling loosely and sounds tired from its marathon. It tries its best to cool things down, but the uphill run has taken its toll. I stand and step under it. A veil of air envelopes me increasing the evaporation from my skin. I run the back of my hand across my forehead. Whew. I have not used the hot water in the shower for about a week. The temperature of the cold water is about 80 degrees making the thought of adding some of the hot water unfathomable. Its a beautiful, cool, mountain waterfall as I close my eyes and step in. Eight minutes of bliss, turning, shifting, stretching, allowing the water to run over me. I realize this may be my only relief for the entire day and savor a few extra minutes. Dressing in my lightest cotton clothing I step into the backyard. The carnage is splayed out before me, death everywhere. I do not seen a green blade of grass, weed, or vine. My garden bends under the weight of the heat, stretching deep into the cracked earth for pearls of water. Tired from the struggle they lean against each other for support. I switch on the radio to hear the weather report, “We are in for another hot one, 103 degrees for the high temperature today.” I wilt.