I had two consecutive days there where I felt somewhat human, alas, it did not last.
I am now reduced to a mere puddle of protoplasm desperately clinging to my beloved portable A/C unit.
And we have a choking smoke pall to deal with as well. This is a significant piece of information because …
… There are two major meteor showers every year. The Leonids which fall, (heh) in November, and the Perseids, which fall, now.
I am enamoured of meteor showers, and have been since a small child. They’re the only extra-terrestrial visitors we can count on. Since we have been living here on Widder Island I have not seen either of these showers once. It rains in the summer (or at least it used to) and snows in the winter. Both types of precipitous events have conspired to deny my will, until this year.
Clear skies were forecast. The waxing moon (what there was of her) would be annoying folks on the other side of the planet. I set up a comfy chair in the front yard, communed with the Summer Tree, and waited for the wee small hours of the night when the shower would be at its most illustrious.
With tea and snacks I ventured forth to bear witness … and couldn’t see a bloody thing.
The smoke from the wildfires had finally arrived, thanks to a dastardly nor’westerly.
I squinted and peered but the only stars I saw were inside my eyelids. Broken in heart and spirit, I turned to go back inside and weep bitter tears into my pillow, when, bright enough to pierce the smoke, a single meteor streaked to its doom across the sky.
After the devastating ‘heat dome of 42 degrees’ at the end of June, Mrs Widds and I decided to splurge and buy a couple of ‘mini swamp coolers’ because I was adamant that when the next one hits (and it will – in fact there’s one over the Mediterranean as we speak) we wouldn’t rely exclusively on the portable A/C. Redundancy in all things is our motto.